


You Alone Can Make My Song Take Flight

by TakeItAndRun



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Also some minor hints of MC/Saeran in later chapters, Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, And Jumin is Raoul, Angst with a Happy Ending, But she's MC1, Childhood Friends, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Crossdressing, Don't be scared off by the VRika tag it's honestly pretty one sided, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Goddammit Rika: The Musical, Jumin has gay thoughts, JuminV is endgame, Minor Character Death, Multi, Nooses are bad, Original Character Death(s), Phantom of the Opera AU, Rika is the phantom, They're in France but they’re still Korean, Think of it as Frarea, V is Christine, VRika is mostly one sided, childhood friend romance, mc has a name, offscreen murder, you have three guesses as to who does the crossdressing. First two don't count
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakeItAndRun/pseuds/TakeItAndRun
Summary: V is a stagehand who becomes an opera sensation overnight. Jumin, the heir to a successful business, attends the opera on the night of V's debut performance and instantly sets out to reunite with his childhood friend. Little does Jumin know that an angel of music watches over V... and she wants the opera singer all to herself.AKA: The Phantom of the Opera, but with Mystic Messenger characters!





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this story is nowhere near done--I have chapters 1-3 more or less written, but the rest of the chapters are extremely rough drafts, and I'm only about halfway through the "Wandering Child" scene. But HOLY SHIT THE V ROUTE HAS BEEN RELEASED I NEED TO RIDE THE HYPE TRAIN NOW.  
> Now, to the prologue!

“Welcome, monsieurs and mademoiselles! Sit yourselves down, and see the best auction house in town!”

Jumin Han watched the auctioneer prance about the stage, her plum-colored skirts trailing behind her. Mademoiselle Marie--for that is what she insisted on being called--presented herself as a well-to-do dame dressed in the latest fashions, from her black-buckled shoes to the gigantic hat nestled atop her red mane. Her crimson lips stretched across her face in a tremendous smile that showed too many teeth and gums, an expression that matched her dynamic hand gestures and loud, booming voice. On the whole, she seemed like a person well-suited for showmanship; someone who could live their entire life on stage happily, if they were allowed to do so.  

Yet, Jumin was aware that underneath all the makeup and petticoats, there laid another person entirely.

Settling herself behind a long wooden table, Mademoiselle Marie gestured for her assistant to start the show. The assistant walked onto the stage with a large, antique clock, scowling at the audience before him. Mademoiselle Marie either didn’t notice her assistant’s displeasure, or she just didn’t care--both options were equally likely.

“Thank you, Monsieur Vanderwood!” Mademoiselle Marie chirped. She turned towards the audience with an all too familiar grin on her face. “Now, what we have here is…”

Jumin tuned out her chattering. He was only there for one certain item, after all.

The auction droned on: Mademoiselle Marie cracked jokes, the audience members made bids on various knick-knacks, and Jumin felt as though he’d melt from the heat. Still, he did manage to obtain a large, ornate painting of an old chapel--not because he wanted it for himself, but because he knew Jihyun had been searching all over for that particular work of art.

When he called out his number, he saw Mademoiselle Marie’s gaze flicker over to him. Her golden eyes widened slightly before they went back to normal, as if she hadn’t seen him in the first place.

“Any other offers…? No? Going once, going twice...SOLD!”

She knocked her gavel against the table. Her assistant grimaced at the noise and grabbed the painting, hefting it under his right arm.

“Oh! Monsieur Vanderwood?” Mademoiselle Marie asked. “Might it be possible to skip to another one of our fine items… perhaps, if I dare be so bold, lot 666?”

Even though Jumin was some distance away from the stage, he could clearly see Monsieur Vanderwood’s eyes roll as he mumbled something under his breath. Nonetheless, he turned around and walked towards the right wing of the stage.

Jumin's lips twitched into a smirk.

“Well!” Mademoiselle Marie exclaimed, clapping her hands. A mischievous smile spread across her face as she leaned towards the audience. “Perhaps I ought to explain the history of lot 666, yes? After all, this is a rare, one-of-a-kind item--the only one in the world, in fact!”

Again, Jumin only half-listened to the woman’s rambles. He already knew what lot 666 was, of course. How could he not, when it held so much significance to both him and his darling Jihyun?

Finally, Monsieur Vanderwood stepped onto the stage, holding lot 666 in his hands.

Lot 666 was a music box, and at first glance, it didn’t seem like much. The box itself was made of white-painted oak, although the golden trim engraved on the wood suggested that the item held _some_ value. Still, that didn’t seem to be enough for the audience; based on the murmurs Jumin overheard, it was clear they thought Mademoiselle Marie was trying to scam them.

Then, Monsieur Vanderwood shifted his hand, revealing the strange green eye painted on the side of the box.

All at once, it seemed as though the audience’s doubts were silenced. Jumin heard gasps coming from the crowd, though he supposed that reaction was to be expected--after all, how many of these commoners thought they’d be seeing such an infamous object that day?   

“Behold, monsieurs and mademoiselles! The Phantom's music box!” Mademoiselle Marie exclaimed triumphantly. She took the music box from Monsieur Vanderwood and held it up towards the audience. “Isn’t it lovely? Look at the beautiful craftsmanship! Marvel at how fresh the paint looks, even after all these years! Ah, but this box is no mere toy, my darlings--the tune contained in this box can drive someone to madness!”

Jumin rolled his eyes at Mademoiselle Marie’s theatrics. Still, he had to admit that she was good at riling people up--already, the crowd was clamoring for information, hurling question after question at the auctioneer.

A sharp whistle interrupted their cries, courtesy of Monsieur Vanderwood. Mademoiselle Marie gave him a nod of thanks before she turned her attention back towards the audience.

“Ah… you know, I was there when the phantom terrorized the opera house.” Mademoiselle Marie smiled nostalgically. “It is a beautiful tale, of course--yet, it is also one full of horror and sadness, the likes of which you’ve never heard before. A tale about a poor, lost soul who falls in love with a handsome opera singer… and the tragedy that occurs when the singer gives his heart to another.”

Jumin snorted. _Really? He makes the whole situation sound like a trashy romance novel._

Still, Mademoiselle Marie continued to speak. “I can tell you all about it, my darlings. It shan’t take too long… hopefully.”

And so, the auctioneer began her tale.


	2. Think of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, readers! This is where the real meat of the fic begins!  
> I just want to warn you all, though--I don't know if I'll always be able to update this quickly. I'm pretty busy at school, and I generally have a difficult time forcing myself to concentrate on things I really should be doing (plus, I gotta woo V. Priorities, folks!). Still, I'm going to do the best I can! Kudos and comments help too, of course. ;)  
> Some notes:  
> *I started writing this way before V's route came out, so a lot of details might be inaccurate (apparently, V has a grudge against artists? Whoops.).  
> *Yes, I'm aware of the irony of Jumin playing Vicomte Raoul "YOU CAN'T WIN HER LOVE BY MAKING HER YOUR PRISONER!" de Chagny. But in my defense, Jumin and V's relationship is so cuuuuute (whether it's platonic or romantic).  
> *Saeran's in this fic because I love him. IF CHERITZ WON'T LET HIM BE HAPPY IN THE GAME, I'LL MAKE HIM HAPPY IN MY FICS. >:(  
> *A lot of Saeran's characterization here comes from my interpretation of his post Secret Ending self.  
> *If this story flows weirdly, please let me know!

_Think of all the things_  
_we've shared and seen..._  
_Don't think about the_  
_things which might have been..._

* * *

  **A Few Years Beforehand**

The opera house was buzzing with energy.

V  _felt_ it, like he and the theater was one and the same. His heartbeats synchronized with the chattering and laughter coming from the other employees in the theater, the noise causing his blood to thrum with excitement. Backstage, his paintbrush danced across the canvas with stunning ease, his arm guided by the surge of much-needed vigor coursing through his veins—he hadn’t slept terribly well the night before, so he welcomed the boost of energy. Humming tunelessly, he barely paid any heed to his surroundings, focused on his work alone.

Until…    

“Ah, V! Just the mortal God Saeyoung wanted to see!”

That voice, combined with the arm slung over his shoulder, snapped V out of his thoughts. Surprised, he flinched slightly and almost dropped the paintbrush he held in his hand, but he couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled from his throat.

“Careful, God Saeyoung,” V playfully warned, “Your prophet almost dropped his paintbrush on the floor.”

God Saeyoung—or just Saeyoung, as it were—laughed uproariously. “Apologies, my devoted follower! God Saeyoung will try to stop dazzling you with his divinity, but he can’t make any promises!”

V laughed again and shook Saeyoung’s arm off his shoulders. Although Saeyoung’s behavior seemed odd to an outsider, he knew his friend well enough to know that he was only joking around. “What divine news do you have for your subjects, milord?”

“News, news…” Pressing his pointer finger to his chin, Saeyoung pretended to think for a moment. “Aha! God Saeyoung remembers now! He brings news that—!”

“The new theater manager is here.” A voice from behind them said, interrupting Saeyoung’s proclamation.

Saeyoung gasped and turned around to face the interloper. “Saeraaaaaan! I was gonna tell him that!” He said with a pout.

“You were taking too long, moron.” The interloper snorted, taking a few steps closer to them. “We don’t have all day, you know.”

V chuckled.  _These two_ … “Hello, Saeran. How are you?”

The interloper—also known as Saeran—shrugged. “Same as I always am—living in a constant state of annoyance and praying that my idiot brother’s voice doesn’t make me go deaf.”

V shook his head, once again amazed how it was possible for two men to be so alike, yet so different. Saeran and Saeyoung were twins, and their looks certainly reflected it: they had a similar body structure (though Saeran was much thinner), similar gold-colored eyes, similar pale skin, similar messy hairstyle, and... well, they _had_ a similar hair color, but that changed when Saeran started to dye his hair white. Personality-wise, however…

“So rude! How could you say such cruel things about your brother?!”

“Well, because they’re true! And stop looking like you’re going to cry! We both know you’re faking it!”

...There weren’t as many similarities.

“Alright you two, break it up,” V said, patting Saeyoung’s shoulder soothingly. “Saeran, do you know where the theater manager is?”

Saeran nodded. “Yeah. I heard that she was in the auditorium with some other lady, talking to Monsieur Nolan.”

Although Saeran had a neutral expression on his face, V noticed that Saeran was clutching his forearm with one hand—a tell-tale sign that he was anxious. V couldn’t blame him, however; earlier that week, when they first received word about the shift in management, an unusually somber Saeyoung had privately confessed that Saeran was terrified about losing his job.

 _“Don’t get me wrong, I’m worried too.”_ He had said. _“But Saeran...he’s worried that the new manager won’t be as understanding about his health problems as Monsieur Nolan is. Besides, even though he’s really good at what he does, he only got this job because you and I begged for him to join...he thinks if the new manager ever finds out about that, he’ll be the first to go.”_

V didn’t think that was likely—both Saeran and Saeyoung were intelligent and hard workers, and anyone who wasn’t able to see that was truly foolish.

V didn’t say any of that out loud, however. Instead, he smiled and said, “Thank you, Saeran. I’m interested in meeting her, so your help is much appreciated.”

“I’m coming too!” Saeyoung declared, striking a dramatic pose. “God Saeyoung must greet every pilgrim who enters his temple!”

Saeran rolled his eyes, though V was able to tell he was fighting the urge to smile. “Seriously, V. If you won’t smack him, I will.”

“ _Saeran!”_  

* * *

A newcomer might’ve considered the auditorium in the opera house to be very overwhelming, and they wouldn’t be wrong: it was a large, brightly-decorated space with hundreds upon thousands of red-velvet seats facing a huge, elaborate stage, a crystal chandelier hanging from the golden ceiling. Even so, it wasn’t too difficult to locate the new manager and the woman accompanying her, especially considering that they approached them first.

V became lost in thought during their trip (not helped by the twin’s bickering), and he was still slightly out of it when he entered the auditorium. He was brought back to reality when he heard Saeran and Saeyoung’s voices die down, accompanied soon after by a giggle coming from his right side.

“It’s really beautiful in here, isn’t it?” A light-hearted, yet unfamiliar voice said. “Why, when I first saw this auditorium, I almost fainted!”

V blinked and saw two smartly dressed brunettes standing to his right. One of them wore a huge smile and had her long hair in a braid, though her bangs fell in front of her face. The other woman had her hair cut short, and her honey-brown eyes were framed by a pair of spectacles. 

V laughed awkwardly. “Oh, sorry! I wasn’t really looking around; I was just...thinking.” He paused, glancing at the two women curiously. “You don’t look familiar… one of you is the new director, correct?”

The woman with the braid smiled brightly. “Yes, that would be me!” Based on her voice, she’d been the one that spoke to him before. “My name is Mademoiselle Chung. My companion next to me is Mademoiselle Kang, who’s representing her employer today.”

Mademoiselle Kang nodded. “How do you do.” Her voice was quiet, yet laced with steel.

“How do you do?” V said, bowing slightly. “I’m V, a member of the backstage crew.”

Mademoiselle Chung tilted her head. “V? What a unique name!” She nodded towards Saeyoung and Saeran. “And who might you be?”

Saeyoung grinned and puffed out his chest, seemingly recovered from his initial surprise. “I have gone by many names… but for now, I am Saeyoung Choi, man of great mystery and power!” He pointed to his brother, who looked supremely unimpressed by his theatrics. “And this, dear disciples, is the amazing, the intelligent—!”

“It’s Saeran.” Saeran said, ignoring Saeyoung’s annoyed protest at being interrupted yet again. “Just Saeran.”

“Ah!” Mademoiselle Chung laughed, and even Mademoiselle Kang smiled slightly. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Saeyoung Choi and Just Saeran.” Mademoiselle Chung turned to Mademoiselle Kang, lowering her voice a little. “See, Jaehee? There was nothing for your employer to worry about!”

V was curious as to what Mademoiselle Chung meant by that, but he wasn’t sure whether it was appropriate for him to inquire further. Unfortunately, (or fortunately, perhaps), Saeyoung had no such scruples.

“Oh, my!” He pretended to gasp. “Did Mademoiselle Kang’s employer doubt the magnificence and beauty of this opera house?!”

Mademoiselle Kang shook her head. “No, nothing quite like that. My employer is somewhat... _particular_ when it comes to certain matters.” She shuddered slightly, as if recalling a horrible memory. “Really, he would’ve preferred to spend his money on something cat-related, but his father insisted on having him donate a large sum of money to this theater.”

“Yes…” Mademoiselle Chung grimaced as well, but quickly brightened. “Still, I intend to put the money to good use! I brought Mademoiselle Kang today partly to have a second opinion on what ought to be renovated, and partly so that she could ease Monsieur Han’s concerns.”

That name struck V like a lightning bolt.

_...Han? Han…_

“Pardon me…” V said slowly, “but… is Jumin Han your employer, Mademoiselle Kang?”

Mademoiselle Kang nodded, though she didn’t seem terribly surprised that he recognized the name. “Yes. It’s not a secret, but many people tend to have a... odd reaction to his name being brought up, so I thought it best that—”

Memories came flooding back to V, drowning out the rest of Mademoiselle Kang’s sentence. In his mind, he saw two boys sitting on a beach, their small hands clasped together as they watched seagulls dive into the ocean. One of those boys was a scrawny, lanky boy with floppy teal hair and a bright smile—in other words, V himself, though that was long before he went by that name. The boy beside him, while similar in frame and height, couldn’t have been more different from his friend—his hair was dark and neatly combed, his clothes formal and freshly ironed. Even his too-serious expression was at odds with his friend’s gap-toothed smile, and it was almost comical to see him watch the sea with such a contemplative look on his face.

Yet, V knew there was more to the boy that met the eye.

The dark haired boy started to speak. At first, V wasn’t able to hear him, but after a few seconds of watching the boy’s lips move, the words drifted through his ears with crystal-clear clarity.

 _“Everyone at my father’s beach house is so_ dull…  _all they talk about is my father’s money, always asking for favors and presents. My stepmother’s holding another bridge game, and her friends are so loud and annoying… I hate being near them. I like it better here with you.”_

V saw the teal-haired boy’s cheeks turn pink. The other boy continued to speak, ignorant of his friend’s flustered state.

 _“I like being around you…_ Jihyun _…”_

**_CRASH!_ **

The noise shattered V’s memory like glass, quickly followed by a pained shout coming from the direction of the stage.

Although V was somewhat disoriented, he didn’t hesitate to follow Saeyoung as he dashed towards the stage, Saeran and the two women trailing close behind. His eyes widened when he saw a figure in the orchestra pit struggling to stand, his shock growing when he was able to see who it was.

“ _Hyun?!_ ”

Hyun Ryu—or, as he was more popularly known as, Zen—was the star of the opera house, and for a good reason. Critics and audiences alike considered him to be one of the best singers employed by the theater, and a combination of his dazzling good looks and his natural charm had the female population flocking to his performances. In other words, Zen wasn’t just a triple threat—he was the reason for the theater’s popularity in the first place, to the point where several of their shows only received revenue if Zen performed in them.

Zen turned his head towards V. The actor tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace if anything. “Hello— _ah, dammit—_ uh, I seemed to have suffered a... minor fall, but it’s really nothi— _shit!_ ”

The commotion caused the other employees in the auditorium to come running towards them, clamoring to see what was going on. A few stagehands entered the pit and attempted to help Zen stand, but it was all for naught; once Zen put pressure on his right foot, he hissed in pain, which caused Mademoiselle Kang to hurry into the pit as well. She knelt down and examined his ankle quickly, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“It seems to be twisted.” She said grimly. “Did you fall off the stage?”

“I guess so…” Zen’s eyebrows furrowed. “It was… strange, though. I was practicing some of my dance moves—you know, just to brush up on them—and I was doing perfectly fine at first. But when I got towards the edge of the stage, it felt… slippery. Kind of like someone had put grease on it… but I have no idea who! There wasn’t anyone up on the stage when I got on!”

Everyone started talking at once.

“Well, it wasn’t the stage crew! None of us were scheduled to do anything like that today!”

“How awful! How will we perform without Zen?”

“What if Zenny had hurt his face?! Oh, that’s too terrible to even _think_ about!”

There was one sentence, however, that made V’s blood chill; it started out as a mere whisper, but grew to a crescendo as it was passed on to more people.

“The phantom… _the phantom!_ This is her doing!”

Mademoiselle Chung looked up sharply. “The… phantom?” She asked, baffled.

There was an awkward pause, which was broken by Saeyoung stepping forward with a forced smile.

“You see, Mademoiselle,” He said grandly, “There are, er…  _rumors_ of a phantom that supposedly resides in this very theater! According to, uh…  _certain_ characters, she is usually quite docile, but has a habit of causing… ghostly mischief if someone displeases her. But, again, these are mere tall tales! Although—”

Monsieur Nolan laughed nervously, interrupting Saeyoung’s explanation.

“Heavens, Monsieur Choi! Don’t frighten Mademoiselle Chung with your ghost stories!” He turned to Mademoiselle Chung with a fake smile plastered on his face. “I’m afraid my workers have… active imaginations, Mademoiselle. I can assure you, however, that there is nothing supernatural going on in this theater—an intelligent woman such as yourself can surely understand that these things do happen!”

 Despite his claims, Monsieur Nolan backed away slowly.

“And on that note, Mademoiselle, I leave this opera house in your capable hands! If you need me, I’ll be in Korea.”

He ran off without another word, clearly relieved that the current situation wasn’t his problem anymore.

Mademoiselle Chung muttered something under her breath before turning to Zen. “I’m sorry, Zen. I’m not sure if you should be performing tonight. It’d probably be better if you took it easy for a while…”

There were several cries of protests, the loudest one coming from Zen himself. “With all due respect, Mademoiselle, I heal very quickly! I’m sure that if you give it a few hours—!”

“That won’t be enough.” Mademoiselle Kang said; despite that, she looked truly upset. “While I… deeply admire your commitment to your craft, Monsieur Zen, I doubt that your ankle will feel better by the time the show starts tonight. If you wish, I can get a doctor for you. It’s the absolute least I can do.”

There was a pause before Zen sighed. V grimaced at the sound; he knew how much Zen’s career meant to him, and he regretted that he hadn’t checked the stage before he left with Saeyoung and Saeran.

“Yes, I… I understand. Thank you, Mademoiselle Kang.”

The crowd of people backed away, giving Zen and his helpers enough room to get through. V caught a glimpse of Saeyoung and Saeran’s somber expressions, and he was well-aware that his face probably reflected similar feelings.

Once Zen was out of earshot, Mademoiselle Chung began to speak again.

“Well… what can we do?” She asked. “It’s not like we can cancel the show at the last minute. Does Zen have an understudy?”

An awkward silence fell across the employees.

Mademoiselle Chung grimaced. “... Seriously? He  _doesn’t_  have an understudy?”

“I’m afraid not,” Mademoiselle Kang spoke up. “Monsieur Zen takes his job very seriously, mademoiselle. His work ethic is impeccable, and he rarely, if ever, misses a performance—in other words, there’s no reason for him to have an understudy.”

“Er…” Mademoiselle Chung blinked. “Thank you, Mademoiselle Kang, but how did you know all that?”

Mademoiselle Kang coughed slightly, blushing. “I, well… perhaps I have a habit of collecting Zen’s newspaper interviews…”

Saeyoung cleared his throat to cover up a snicker.

“Okay…” Mademoiselle Chung rubbed her forehead. “So, he doesn’t have an understudy. Is there at  _least_  someone here who can sing his part?” 

There was another pause. Than…

“Oh, I know!”

V turned to Saeyoung, who was beaming as brightly as ever.

“Mademoiselle Chung! V can sing Zen’s part!”

V’s jaw dropped. He wasn’t the only one shocked by Saeyoung’s claim; everyone else displayed similar surprised reactions, either through their facial expressions or through loud exclamations.

“What the hell, Saeyoung?!” Saeran said as he glared at his twin.

“It’s true!” Saeyoung insisted. “I hear him sing during work sometimes, and I know for a fact that he stays overtime to practice his singing! He’s really good, and I think he’d be perfect in Zen’s role!”

V turned bright red. That’s right—Saeyoung and Saeran lived in the opera house, so it was possible Saeyoung had heard him with his... _tutor_. “Er… I don’t know if I’m  _that_ good…”

Mademoiselle Chung bit her lip. “It’s a tempting offer, but…”

“E-excuse me!” A nervous voice piped up from behind them. V turned his head, surprised.

“...Yoosung?”

Sure enough, it was Yoosung who spoke up. The young man turned bright red when he noticed everyone’s eyes on him.

Yoosung Kim was a member of the opera house’s choir. He had been hired a year and a half ago, and while he proved to be a sociable and friendly young man, he tended to be very hostile towards V, much to the man’s bewilderment—no matter how hard he racked his brain, he couldn’t remember meeting Yoosung outside of the opera house.

“Uhh… I can back up what Saeyoung said.” Yoosung said, shifting nervously. “V… V, uh, he’s been practicing really hard lately, and he’s really well-trained. So… I mean, you don’t  _have_ to give him the part, but…”

V’s mind was racing.  _How did he know?!_

“Well!” Mademoiselle Chung said, her voice trying to regain its former cheer. “It seems like you have several people who think you can fill Zen’s role! How about you demonstrate for us, V?”

“Er… I suppose I will.” V said slowly. He took a deep breath, and for a moment, he swore that he was able to feel  _something_ staring at him from far away.

A sentence floated through his mind.

_Sing, my angel of music…!_

So he did.

* * *

Jumin Han was  _not_ sulking. Sulking was something that children did, and he wasn’t a child anymore. No, he was merely sitting in his seat in one of the balconies, glaring at his lap because  _of course_ his father’s mistress had insisted on attending the opera during the night he was supposed to spend time with his darling Elizabeth the 3rd.

“Oh Jumin, I know you’ll love this!” His father’s mistress had insisted in a high-pitched, sickeningly sweet voice. “This production has a  _wonderful_ leading man—his name is Zen, and all of the newspapers are absolutely  _raving_ about him! Besides, you and your father gave the theater  _such_ a generous donation. Wouldn’t you feel better about your decision if you saw how  _wonderful_  opera really is?”

She had neglected to mention that they  _only_ made such a generous donation because she had begged his father to do so, who had begged Jumin to donate something as well. Besides, the “wonderful leading man” she had so looked forward to seeing wasn’t performing that night—instead, his part would be played by some singer absolutely no one had heard of before, much to her disappointment.

 _V_. Surely, that had to be a stage name. Even a commoner wouldn’t be foolish enough to name their child that.

Jumin stared at his brooch, a small portrait of his beautiful Elizabeth’s face embedded in the middle. He hadn’t been paying any attention to the story unfolding onstage, though he recalled Assistant Kang telling him that it was about a huntress who fell in love with a Phoenix. The singer playing the huntress was objectively good, but it was merely background noise to him—he had no interest in actually watching the performance itself.

That was before he heard  _him._

 _“Think of me, think of me fondly, when we’ve said goodbye… Remember me, once in a while, please promise me you’ll try...”_   

Jumin froze, taken aback by how…  _familiar_ that voice was. But how could it be? Surely, none of the singers in the production were acquainted with him…

Curiosity finally piqued, Jumin glanced at the stage. The singer emerged from behind the brightly-painted trees and Jumin was almost blinded by how his golden outfit shimmered under the spotlight, the light turning his feather cape into a kaleidoscope of red, orange, and yellow. Based on the garments he wore, he was playing the Phoenix in this production; however, the man’s (achingly familiar) teal hair suggested he’d be more suited for a role of a water nymph, his long bangs cascading over his left eye like a waterfall.

As Jumin took in the singer’s appearance, he continued to sing. The baritone voice echoed throughout the auditorium, casting a spell on his captivated audience.

 _“When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free…”_ The man held his arms out towards the audience as if he was silently pleading with them; for whatever reason, Jumin felt as though that gesture was directed at him specifically.  _“If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me…”_

He lifted his head and smiled, and Jumin’s mouth grew dry.

_That smile…_

Jumin’s father gasped and elbowed his side.

“Jumin.... Son, is that…?”

Jumin couldn’t find the words to answer. Taking his silence as a response, his father chuckled as he continued to watch the singer.

“It  _is,_ isn’t it! Why, it’s little Jihyun!”

For it  _was_ Jihyun—taller and more mature, certainly, but it was undeniably  _him_. Scraps of memories flickered through Jumin’s mind, and his grip on the brooch grew tighter.

They first met each other as children on the beach. Both of their families owned houses near the ocean, and naturally, the two boys ran across each other while taking walks upon the sandbar. Jumin had been trying to escape his father’s swarm of mistresses and false friends; Jihyun, meanwhile, had wandered away from his house to comb the beach for treasure, and he had invited Jumin to accompany him. The two boys became fast friends, and it soon became almost impossible to separate them. If Jihyun’s nanny searched for her ward, she’d find him in the ocean with Jumin; likewise, if one of Jumin’s servants went looking for him, they’d find him building sand castles with Jihyun. It was, in Jumin’s opinion, the perfect friendship between two lonely, rich boys who sought solace with each other, and for that reason, summer quickly became their favorite season in the year.

But then they grew older; their busy personal lives soon replaced childish recreational activities, and they hadn’t seen each other in person for years. Their last face to face meeting had been at least two or three years ago, and while Jumin had certainly noticed that his friend was a handsome man (and that thought caused a brief flutter in Jumin’s heart), he’d been unaware that Jihyun was capable of transforming into a completely different creature. He was no longer a skinny boy at the beach or an attractive, but quiet, young man—instead, he was like the Phoenix he was playing, beautiful and shining as brightly as the golden feathers sewn to his costume, voice belting out a bewitching aria almost effortlessly.

_“We never said "our love was evergreen" or "as unchanging as the sea…””_

As Jihyun reached the end of his song, Jumin couldn’t help but wonder if his old friend remembered him. It would make sense if he didn’t; Jihyun had always been a charming, gentle boy, the type of child who could make friends easily, a skill Jumin lacked. If that was the case, Jihyun surely wouldn’t recognize the boy he had been childhood friends with…

For whatever reason, that thought sent a painful pang through Jumin’s chest. Surprised, he pressed his hand over his heart, letting out a tiny smile when he felt the organ thump rapidly.

Ah. So Jihyun still had that effect on him.

His old friend’s song finished far too soon. Jumin briefly entertained the notion of calling for an encore, but he wisely held his tongue. However, once the audience began to roar with applause, Jumin didn’t hesitate to join in.

“Bravo! Bravo!” He cried, though his voice was drowned out by many others like it.

_Even if Jihyun doesn’t remember me… I can never forget him._


	3. Angel of Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a break from playing (re: screaming and sobbing over my fictional boyfriends) V's route to post this chapter! Once again, constructive criticism and kudos are welcome. :)

_"No, what I love best," Lotte said,_

_"is when I'm asleep in my bed,_

_and the angel of music sings songs in my head..."_

_**The angel of music sings songs in my head.**.._

* * *

 

As soon as the show was over, V rushed backstage to the storage closet he had privately claimed as his own. Usually, the closet was used for… _tutoring_ purposes, but it would serve as V’s dressing room for the night, as V had insisted there was no need to give him an official one. It was a far cry from Zen’s luxurious dressing room, but V found that it was perfectly suitable for him, with plenty of room to move around and hooks where he could hang up his costume; most importantly, it was some distance away from the other dressing rooms, which granted him a sort of privacy he wouldn’t otherwise have.

V opened the closet door and stepped inside. Immediately, his gaze fell upon the mirror that stood a few feet away from the entrance. He smiled and gently shut the door, placing his candlestick next to the mirror.

“My angel…” His voice was soft, almost reverent. “Did I please you tonight?”

There was no answer. That was fine; V wasn’t expecting one yet. He knew she would respond when she was ready.

He heard loud footsteps outside his door, announcing Saeyoung’s arrival. V opened the door to see the redhead standing there with a cheeky grin on his face, his brother standing next to him with an unreadable expression.

“Ah, here he is! The man of the hour! The mysterious, handsome nobody who became a star!” Saeyoung declared, holding up his hands in a way that was reminiscent of people showing off fine works of art.

V laughed and shook his head. “I wouldn’t go _that_ far, Saeyoung. It was only for tonight, after all.”

Still, V couldn’t deny that it was certainly _thrilling_ to sing in front of others. He’d been nervous before he went onstage, of course, but he’d reminded himself that there were people depending on him; that alone gave him enough courage to perform, as everything seemed to melt away as soon as he started to sing. There was no audience, no auditorium, or any semblance of fear: instead, it was merely him, his voice, and... a _certain_ other presence.

“That might be true, my friend, but you performed your role beautifully! It almost brought a tear to my eye.” Saeyoung nudged his brother. “Saeran, wasn’t V amazing out there?”

Saeran shrugged. “He was pretty good, I suppose.” He said neutrally, a ghost of a smile on his face.

“See?!” Saeyoung said triumphantly. “You even received the Saeran seal of approval!”

V chuckled. “Thank you very much, Saeran. I’m honored.”

“Yeah, well… don’t let it go to your head.” Saeran’s cheeks flushed red and he turned around. “I’m going to see whether the crew needs my help with putting away the set. _Someone_ needs to do their job.” Saeran dashed away, brushing off the “goodnights” the other men sent his way.

“I’m glad he’s opening up a bit.” V smiled at Saeran’s departing form. “I used to worry that he wasn’t adjusting well to this job…”

“Yeah…” Saeyoung said. He paused, as if he was trying to think of the proper words to say. “V… I meant what I said earlier. You were terrific out there.”

V blinked, surprised at how sincere Saeyoung sounded. His friend’s usual carefree expression had been replaced by a more serious one, like he had removed a mask covering his face, baring his soul for the world to see.

“Thank you, Saeyoung. That means a lot to me.” V said, and he meant it. V lived to please others; nothing made him happier than seeing the smiles of his friends and loved ones, and he would sing a thousand arias if it brought even one of them joy.

Saeyoung nodded and looked over V’s shoulder. Upon seeing the mirror, his eyebrows rose in surprise. “... Why’s there a mirror in here?”

V’s heart skipped a beat. “Er… I’m not sure. It was always here.” A half-lie. Saeyoung seemed to accept it easily enough, thankfully.

“So when did you start getting singing lessons, V?” Saeyoung asked, his smile showing traces of his usual behavior.

V chuckled. “I’m not quite sure. I can’t remember the exact day, but if I had to guess… at least two years ago.”

“Huh? Two years ago?!” Saeyoung seemed shocked at the news. V couldn’t blame him, however. “You’ve kept it a secret for two years?”

“... Yes. I-I’m sorry, it sort of… slipped my mind.” V ducked his head, suddenly finding the floor to be very interesting. He couldn’t tell if Saeyoung was angry or merely surprised, but he felt awful regardless; what kind of man kept a secret like this from his friends?

Still... _she_ made it clear he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone…

“Heh, typical,” Saeyoung said with a little smirk, shrugging—ah, so he _had_ been merely surprised. “Trying to hog all the best tutors for yourself, huh?” He leaned forward with a twinkle in his eye. “Sooooo, who is it? Come on, you can tell Uncle Saeyoung!”

“I’m older than you, Saeyoung.” V laughed, and even he could hear how forced it sounded. _Please, don’t make me tell you… She won’t like it if I say anything…!_

“... V, are you alright? You’re as white as a sheet.” Saeyoung’s concerned voice interrupted his racing thoughts. V suddenly realized that his fingernails were digging into the palm of his hand.

“I-It’s nothing.” V shook his head and gave Saeyoung a shaky smile. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

Saeyoung’s eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to respond.

“SAEYOUNG! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!” Saeran’s muffled voice shouted. Saeyoung jumped at his brother’s command, his eyes widening comically.

“Shit, almost forgot!” He hissed before rushing away. Still, he was courteous enough to shout, “Congratulations once again, V!” over his shoulder.

V relaxed slightly when he saw his friend turn the corner and closed the door so he could change. Just as he was about to unbutton his blouse, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and with a start, he realized he _was_ as pale as Saeyoung had claimed. Out of morbid curiosity, he leaned in closer towards the glass surface, scrutinizing his appearance with a critical eye.

V grimaced at how ghastly he looked. He had spent the last few nights with his tutor, singing until the sun was just about to peek over the horizon, and he was clearly affected by his lack of sleep; if nothing else, the emerging bags underneath his eyes and the worn expression on his face were proof of his angel of music’s visits.

At the thought of his angel, a shudder racked his body. Bewildered, he brushed his hand through his mint-colored hair, flinching when he felt how much his hand trembled.

_Am I… frightened?_

Surely, there wasn’t a reason for him to be frightened. Everything had gone well during the performance, so _she_ wouldn’t be upset with him…

No, no, that wasn’t how he should think of his angel of music! His angel was wonderful, and any anger she felt towards him was doubtlessly well-deserved.

He removed his phoenix costume, though his shaking hands made the task more difficult than it should’ve been, and quickly pulled on his pair of work trousers and a button down shirt. Just as he was about clasp the last button, he heard a series of knocks on the door. V jumped at the noise before laughing awkwardly, partly to diffuse the sudden tension he felt and partly in an attempt to act natural.

“Saeyoung, can you give me a moment? I need to get my shoes on.” He called over his shoulder. Just as he leaned over to grab said shoes, he heard the person on the other side of the door chuckle. V froze in place.

That wasn’t Saeyoung’s laugh.

“I’m not familiar with Monsieur Saeyoung, but I can assure you that it’s difficult to mistake me for him.” The deep voice sounded amused. V frowned, trying to recall if he ever heard that voice before. Surely, it couldn’t be who he thought it was…

Cautiously, V opened the closet door slightly. Peering through the crack, he saw that the voice belonged to a tall, well-dressed man wearing a sharp pinstripe vest. The man stared down at V, and V’s heart fluttered when he recognized the familiar look in those gray eyes.

“...Jumin? Jumin Han?”

The man gave a small smile.

“Jihyun. Has it really been so long that you don’t recognize me?”

With that simple sentence, V felt like he was a child at the beach again. He grinned widely, unable to contain his joy. “Why, it _is_ you, Jumin!” He swung the door open all the way and clasped his old friend’s hand warmly. “The great Jumin Han, right here in my dressing room! I feel so honored.”

Once again, Jumin chuckled. “I could say the same about you, Jihyun. You gave a wonderful performance.”

“Oh, you! You’ll give me a big head if you go on like that.” V laughed, gazing at his friend from head to toe.

There was no denying that the man in front of him _was_ Jumin. Oh yes, he was much taller than V remembered him to be, at least a few inches taller than V himself, but that was the only thing that had changed. He still carried himself with a mature, professional air, though it was a much more suitable fit than back when he was a child; he still had those grey eyes that only lit up around V and cats; his black hair was still cut and styled in his usual fashion; and he still wore one of those formal suits that, nevertheless, were tailored to fit him perfectly. The familiarity of the man in front of him made V’s fears wash away, leaving nothing but nostalgia in its wake.

“Though I must admit, I was… surprised to see you onstage.” Jumin said. “I don’t recall you expressing an interest in the opera.”

“I can say the same for you, Jumin!” Yet again, V laughed. “But you aren’t exactly wrong. I’m far from the next big opera sensation—I’m just the stagehand here. Before today, I would paint the sets that we use in our productions. This is actually my first time singing in front of an audience—” V made a sweeping motion with his hand, as if gesturing at the whole closet. “Though I’m sure my luxurious quarters gave that away.”

Jumin’s eyebrows rose slightly in a way that indicated his confusion. “What made you decide to work here? I don’t remember you mentioning any money problems.”

V shrugged, fighting the nerves that seemed to bubble under his skin. “Ah… it’s just something to pass the time. Nothing more.” Again, another half-lie. He quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, how are you doing? Mademoiselle Kang came by and said that you made quite a large donation. I’m guessing business is going well?”

When they had last met, Jumin had been preparing to work right next to his father in their business; even back then, V had been confident that his friend would be successful in that line of work, something that’d been seemingly confirmed by Mademoiselle Kang.

Jumin grimaced. “... Yes. Perhaps a little too well…”

V tilted his head in confusion.

“... My father has a new mistress.”

“Again?” V laughed. “At least some things never change.”

“Perhaps, but I wouldn’t mind _that_ habit of his changing.” Jumin said drily. V remembered that when they were younger, Jumin always used to lament his father’s philandering ways. _I suppose that didn’t change either…_

“Ah, I don’t think _you_ have any leg to stand on,” V said, smiling mischievously. “After all, I seem to recall you insisting on spoiling any stray cat that crossed your path.”

“Excuse me, Jihyun Kim. If I remember correctly, _you_ were the one who stayed out late one night to catch a kitten.”

“Yes, for _you_!” V laughed again. “Incidentally… how’s she doing?”

Jumin’s expression brightened. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a brooch, handing it over to V. “Extraordinarily well. Elizabeth 3rd is my pride and joy.”

V looked down at the brooch and saw the miniature portrait nestled in the middle. A snow-white cat with blue eyes stared up at him charmingly as it reclined on what looked like red velvet, a small smile on its face.

“Oh, Jumin, she’s _gorgeous!_ ” V grinned, relieved that Jumin had loved his gift so much. Then again, he already knew how much Jumin adored that cat: the way Jumin’s eyes had lit up when V presented her to him made all of the scratches on his arms worth it. 

“She is, is she not?” Jumin said, his demeanor resembling that of a proud parent. “A painting cannot fully capture her beauty, of course—she is too magnificent for that. You must allow me to show her to you in the future.”

V’s smile wavered. _Oh, Jumin… I’d love to, if she would let me…_

He didn’t say that out loud, however. He merely said, “I would love that, Jumin. I’m surprised that you kept the name I gave her! I only called her “Elizabeth 3rd” as a placeholder name, after all.”

“I could not think of any other name that fit her.” Jumin shrugged. “Besides, I believe that you have no room to talk, _Monsieur V_.”

“Oh, you noticed? Haha, it took you so long to bring it up! I started calling myself that because I didn’t want to draw attention to my family name, and I suppose I became accustomed to it.”

“... I see. You were lucky in that regard.”

There was a brief pause. It wasn’t uncomfortable—quite the opposite, in fact. Jumin and V had been friends for a long time, to the point where they were perfectly capable of spending hours in silence, even if one of them was reading or painting.

God, V had missed this sort of companionship. He had Saeyoung and Saeran, of course, but it was never quite the same—he usually felt like he was more of a father figure to them, and while he was pleased with that dynamic, there was still something missing in that puzzle. With Jumin, however, all of the pieces snapped together perfectly, keeping each other in balance; with his old friend by his side, V felt unstoppable.

“Do you remember the beach house?” V’s voice was softer.

“Obviously. I remember you, after all.”

“Haha… that’s true, but that wasn’t quite what I meant. Do you remember what we used to do there?”

“Ah, I understand now. Yes, I do remember.” Jumin’s voice sounded warmer. “I remember how you used to drag me outside because you wanted to draw the sun going down. You’d always get so excited when you saw the sunshine reflect off of the water.”

“You remember that, too? I’m glad… those moments made me so happy. Do you remember when it used to rain, and we would hide in the attic?”

“Yes… you suggested hiding up there because my stepmother would never think to look for us in such a dirty place. We would have the servants pack lunch for us…”

“...And we would read, or paint, or just sit and talk…”

“... Your mother would sometimes come up with us, and she would play her violin…”

“Yes… she used to be so happy when we listened to her play...”

There was another pause, though it was more bittersweet than the first.

“I miss moments like those.” V said quietly. His head was bowed.

Jumin lifted his hand, but quickly dropped it. He settled on fidgeting with his wrist cuffs instead.

“I as well,” Jumin said. He cleared his throat, his voice reverting to a more professional tone. “Jihyun, would you like to join me for dinner?”

It took a few seconds for Jumin’s question to register in V’s mind. As soon as it did, however, his eyes widened as his fear came back full-force.

_She won’t like that… Oh, she won’t like that at all!_

“I’m sorry… I-I would love to, Jumin, but…” V bit his lip as he tried to figure out how to say his next sentence. He was being truthful—he _did_ want to have dinner with his old friend, but the angel would be _furious_ if she knew he was with someone else… even (or perhaps especially) if he was only with his male best friend.

“Are you concerned about the time?” Jumin asked, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Chuckling nervously, V forced himself to relax.

“Er… yes, of course, that’s it. I’ve had a long day…”

“If that is what you’re worried about, I will try to make the meal go by as quickly as possible.” Jumin said. To anyone else, it would seem as though Jumin was brushing off his concerns; however, V knew Jumin well enough to know that this was Jumin’s odd way of trying to accommodate him. V’s feelings of guilt increased.

_If I’m gone for only a little while… maybe she will forgive me. After all, she hasn’t spoken to me yet tonight…_

“If that’s the case, then… yes. I accept.” V lifted his chin, attempting to appear more certain than he felt.

It was worth it when he saw Jumin smile, however. It was something that Jumin rarely did in the past—mostly only around V—and V was thankful that he was still privy to it.

“I will inform my coachman.” Jumin nodded and turned around. “I shall be back in about three minutes.”

“Alright. I’ll see you then.” V watched Jumin leave, fighting the cowardly urge to run after his friend. He didn’t want to be alone; reasonably, he knew he had nothing to fear, but there was a growing sense of panic rising up inside him, making his heart pound and leaving him short of breath. As long as Jumin was with him in his odd little dressing room, he felt _safe._

Now that Jumin was gone, though…

He didn’t get to finish that thought.

With a horrible creaking sound, the closet door slammed shut by itself. V jumped at the loud _BANG!_ that resonated throughout the small space, stumbling away from the door in shock. The candlelight flickered once, then twice, before the flame was snuffed out entirely, plunging V into total darkness. V felt all the color drain from his cheeks as a sudden chill enveloped him, wrapping around him like a cloak, and he couldn’t prevent the whimper that left his lips.

_No… God, no!_

He heard a familiar voice growl behind him, and it took all of his willpower to not cower in fear.

 ** _“Insolent boy!”_** The sentence was hissed out, yet it seemed to echo throughout the room. V flinched.

“I-I-I…. please, angel, forgive m—”

**“Silence!”**

V shut his mouth immediately. He knew better than to speak out of turn to his angel.

 **“What was the meaning of that little scene there, Jihyun?! You knew I wished to see you, and yet you were so eager to run into the arms of some pompous brat! Do I truly mean that little to you?!”** The voice continued, its tone warped with rage. The words stung him more than any physical blow could hope to do, but he knew it was true—he was so ungrateful to treat his angel of music like that!

“I-I’m so sorry, angel!” V’s mouth moved on its own, blurting out words without being entirely conscious of what he was saying. “It was my fault… I was being so selfish, and I didn’t think of how hurt you would feel. Please, forgive me… you truly are kind to put up with someone like me, even though I’m so undeserving….”

There was a long silence after V spoke.

Then, there was the sound of laughter, as sweet and airy as a bell. Sighing, V’s shoulders slumped in relief.

 **“Oh, you flatterer!”** The voice giggled. **“I suppose I’ll forgive you just this once--after all, you _did_ sing so beautifully tonight!”**

“Thank you…” V whispered, thankful that his unseen angel wasn’t about to abandon him. “It was all thanks to you, angel…”

The voice laughed again. **“Ah, I’ve been waiting for this day, my sun… soon, you will dazzle the whole world with your brightness! But…”** The voice sighed as its tone softened. “ **I wish for you to see me… I have been hiding myself in the shadows for too long, and I fear that you may tire of me.”**

“That’s not true!” V’s hand flew to his mouth, shocked that he spoke without permission. Fortunately, the voice merely giggled, as if it found his embarrassment amusing.

“ **I’m so glad! Now Jihyun, my sun… my angel… turn towards me. Turn towards the mirror.”**

_The mirror?_

V turned around.

At first, he was unable to see anything. Then, there seemed to be some sort of light that shone from inside the mirror, finally revealing his mysterious angel of music.

He stared in shock, almost unable to comprehend what he was seeing. His angel wasn’t in the room with him—rather, it seemed as if she was _in_ the mirror itself, trapped within the glass. She was dressed in a pure white robe, her long blonde curls spilling down her back like a halo and making her look even more angelic than she already was. The right half of her face was covered by a white mask, and V briefly wondered what was under it, but that question quickly faded when he saw her beautiful pastel-green eye, which seemed to sparkle with radiance and kindness.

The angel beckoned to him with a crook of her finger. She opened her mouth and started to sing.

**_“I am your angel of music...come to me, angel of music…”_ **

All at once, it felt as though V had been put under a spell, clouding his judgement and making him compliant to the sweet voice in his ears. Like a bewitched man, he walked towards his angel in the mirror, his eyes glazing over.

**_“I am your angel of music… come to me, angel of music…”_ **

At that moment, there was nothing but the angel and her beautiful voice. V could not see anything else, nor did he want to—all he cared about was seeing his angel, and he was willing to do anything to get closer to her.

He would walk through the flames of hell, if necessary.

As he entered the mirror, he could vaguely hear the sound of someone pounding on the door.

“Jihyun?! _JIHYUN!”_

* * *

 


	4. The Phantom of the Opera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER WAS SUCH A PAIN TO WRITE, OH MY GOD. I really struggled with conveying the kind of atmosphere I wanted to portray, for starters; then, once I had it more-or-less written, the V route dropped and added new information I had to include in the story! Still, I think it turned out alright, though I'm willing to accept constructive criticism.
> 
> Notes:  
> * Thanks to wthigottado and Elizabeth 3rd, who both left super-nice messages! You two rock!  
> * In my first drafts, V's mom was actually his sister and their backstory would've included the both of them being neglected by their parents. However, I had to change it when V's route came out. HE INHERITED HIS ANGEL GENES FROM HIS MOTHER. D':  
> * V and his mom have a slightly different relationship here then they did in canon. Most notably, in this story, V's mom didn't lose her hearing until V was older, so she had a pretty good relationship with her son up until then (TBH, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the revelation that V was such a douche when he was younger. When Jumin Han tells you, "Hey, you're kinda being a jerk right now," you know you've done goofed).  
> * I have no idea when the next chapter will come out. I have some of it done, but I still need to write the ending.

_Sing once again with me, our strange duet…_

_my power over you grows stronger yet._

_And though you turn from me to glance behind_

_the Phantom of the Opera is there_

_inside your mind…_

* * *

_"Mama! Mama! Tell me a story!”_

_With a laugh, Jihyun’s mother sat next to her son’s bed. “Ah, are you sure? You’ve been listening to me talk for the past hour… won’t you get tired of my voice?”_

_“Nope!” Jihyun shook his head, a cheerful smile on his face. “Nuh-uh, because mama has the best voice in the world!”_

_“Haha… thank you, Jihyun. That’s very sweet of you to say. Alright, I suppose I can do_ one _more.”_

_“Yay! And I get to pick the story, right?”_

_“Of course, my darling.” His mother smiled, willing to do anything that would help entertain her eager son. “What story do you want to hear?”_

_“Hmmm…” Jihyun thought for a second, scrunching up his face before clapping his small hands with glee. “Tell me about the angel of music! Tell me about the angel of music!”_

_“Haha, again?”_

_“Yes, again! It’s my favorite!”_

_“Alright, dear Jihyun. If you insist…”_

* * *

 When V entered the mirror, he was transported into a world of darkness.

Blinking in confusion, he glanced around, trying to discern his surroundings; however, the shadows around him were too thick for his vision to pierce through, coating the entire area like paint. He started to panic. Where was he? Why was he in this void? Where was his angel? Was she actually a demon sent to drag him to hell? _Was_ he in hell already?

All of a sudden, there was a sound of a match being lit, and the resultant flame silenced his train of thought. He watched it bob in the air before it was used to light a candle, illuminating the face of his angel like a ray of sunshine. She smiled sweetly and took his hand as she began to walk, and feeling rather like a small child, V followed obediently.

“You are in the catacombs underneath the opera house, my sun,” She said, her voice just as beautiful as it was in the mirror. “Don’t worry—you shan’t get lost. I’ll be right here, my angel.”

V nodded, relieved that he wasn’t alone. He briefly wondered why the angel chose to dwell in the shadows, but he dared not question her.

He couldn’t risk the angel’s wrath again.

They walked for quite some time, the flickering flame of the candle serving as their only source of light. With it, V was just barely able to see the grey stones that created the floor and walls of the tunnel—not quite as dark as the shadows themselves, but close enough for them to blend together if V unfocused his vision. As they continued to trek deeper into the belly of the caves, the air steadily grew colder, heavy with a dampness one would experience on a rainy day, chilling V to the bone. Unconsciously, he pressed closer to the angel, shivering as she led him through the maze-like tunnels.

Their footsteps rang against the stone ground. The sound of dripping water met V’s ears, but it was too late to warn him as he stepped into a puddle. V yelped and snatched his foot out of the freezing-cold water, his teeth chattering.

_How did the angel live like this?_

Still, V didn’t say a word of complaint. The angel’s grip on his hand remained strong as they continued to go down, down, down into the gaping maw of the catacombs.

Carefully, they made their way down a stone staircase, the angel doing her best to shine the candlelight on the steps. Halfway through the climb down, V noticed the two torches that stood at the foot of the staircase; when they drew closer, the dancing flames revealed that they were approaching yet another segment of the catacombs.

V’s limbs ached when he and the angel finally reached the bottom step. He forced himself to stifle any noises of displeasure, which became much easier to do once he noticed where they were standing.

V blinked once, then twice.

  _A… lake?_

Indeed, the angel had led him to an underground lake, though V was hesitant to say it was filled with water; despite the torches’ valiant efforts to shed light on the darkness, the liquid still bore a resemblance to black ink. A small boat was tied to a metal fixture on the ground, bobbing up and down as it waited for its passengers.

The angel gracefully hopped inside the boat, much like how a fairy would. V followed her lead, his awkward and cautious movements making her giggle. Gingerly, he sat on one of the benches, unsure of what he was supposed to do. Should he offer to row the boat, or…?

He didn’t have to wonder for much longer—the boat lurched forward on its own, gliding across the water effortlessly. V yelped in shock.

“M-magic…?” He whispered.

The angel laughed. “Yes, my angel! Powered by the strongest magic of all—the magic of music!”

V laughed quietly, but in truth, he couldn’t help but feel a little out of his element. How does an ordinary man speak to such a divine creature?

* * *

  _“... and sometimes, if the angel of music takes a fancy to a person, she will follow them for life. She will teach them how to make the most beautiful music in the world: she’ll teach singers to sing like a nightingale, she’ll inspire pianists to play their music day and night, and she’ll guide a violinist’s bow over the strings sweetly.”_

_“Ohh! Ohhhh!” Jihyun gasped, bouncing up and down on his bed. “Did the angel of music visit you, mama? Is that how you’re so good at the violin?”_

_“Haha, no, darling.” His mother ruffled his hair, her eyes glinting in amusement. “The angel of music only appears to a select few people; alas, I am not one of those fortunate few.”_

_“Whaaaaaat?!” Jihyun’s mint-green eyes grew as wide as dinner plates. “B-but you’re so good at it, mama!”_

_“Oh, you charmer!” His mother laughed and shook her head. “Ah, but if you really must know… When I’m onstage, I often feel like there’s_ someone _watching me from the heavens…”_

* * *

 Neither of them spoke for the rest of the boat ride, so V spent most of the voyage surveying the darkness around him. He couldn’t explain what, exactly, he was looking for; perhaps he wanted to see how the angel lived, as if seeing her lair would unravel all the mysteries surrounding her. It didn’t work—no matter how diligently he searched, he saw nothing but the darkness and gloom above them, swallowing them whole.

Occasionally, he caught the angel staring at him. For whatever reason, her gaze made V feel uncomfortable—she looked at him like _he_ was the divine creature, not her, something that V wasn’t used to. Yes, he liked to believe he was a respected member of society, but nobody ever looked at him with such… _devotion_.

The closest he ever got to that was with Jumin and his mother…

* * *

  _“What does she look like, mama?”_

_“Hmmm… what do you think she looks like?”_

_“Hey, that’s cheating! But… ummm… I think she’d be really, really pretty! Like the angels in the church Monsieur Han took me to that one time!”_

_“Oh? Well, if that’s what you think… then she looks exactly like those angels!”_

_“What?! No way!”_

_“Yes! The angel can make herself look like whatever you want!”_

_“Oooooh! So can she have blue hair like we do?”_

_“Haha! If that’s what you want, little Jihyun, then yes!”_

* * *

 Finally, after what felt like hours, the boat bumped against a dock. The angel pulled out a piece of rope from the bottom of the boat, which she used to attach the boat to one of the pillars. In a manner that suggested she did so many times before, she hoisted herself out of the boat and held her hand out to V.

V accepted her help and took her hand. The angel pulled him out with a surprising amount of ease, as if he was merely a bag of feathers and not a full-grown man. V’s feet landed on the dock, the wood groaning in protest at the added weight.

The angel didn’t release his hand; instead, she led him off the dock and into yet another cave, though this journey was thankfully shorter than the first one. In almost no time at all, they reached the iron-barred gates that guarded their destination.

The angel gave him a knowing smile as they stepped foot into her sanctuary, the gate creaking shut behind them.

* * *

 Candelabras surrounded the angel’s organ, their candles bringing V some much-needed relief. Nevertheless, he squeezed his eyes shut, still needing a brief moment of re-adjustment.

Once he opened his eyes, he glanced around the angel’s sanctuary. The glow from the candlelight danced across the stone walls to reveal the tapestries adorning them, the white fabric depicting the sun over a field of flowers. His gaze scanned over the furniture—two armchairs and a couch—and saw that they, too, were also made with white fabric, as well as the rug on the ground. The rug, on the other hand, had a green eye embroidered in the middle, and V couldn’t help but feel exposed under its gaze.

From behind him, there was a pleased hum. A pair of arms wound around his waist, hugging him tightly, and he yelped in surprise.

Giggling, the angel gave him one final squeeze before she released him. She moved towards the organ and sat down on the bench in front of the keys.

“Do you know why you’re here, my angel?” Her tone was light, but the question itself certainly wasn’t. V hesitated before shaking his head.

Fortunately, it seemed like the angel expected that response, as she merely gave him a bright smile.

“Since I first saw your face, I knew you were capable of creating the sweetest music the world has ever heard. Even before your mother sent me down from the heavens to tutor you…”

V flinched at the mention of his mother. The angel didn’t seem to notice his reaction.

“... I knew that you possessed a bright soul—it’s a beaming light that shines on whatever you create, something that leaves a residue on whoever you speak to. I may have said this once before, but I’ll say it again—you are _dazzling._ Every time I hear you sing, I think there’s no sweeter sound in the world.”

The angel turned towards her organ and idly ran her fingers across the keyboard. After a moment, she began to press down on the ivory keys, the organ wailing in protest as she played a few notes.

“What do you think of my abode, Jihyun?” The angel’s lips curled into a smirk, as if she thought of a funny joke only she was privy to. Sluggishly (since when did he become so tired?), V’s brain searched for the response that would please his tutor the most.

“It’s… dark.” V managed to say, his voice quiet. He knew his answer wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the angel, so he forced himself to continue, overexerting his already-exhausted brain. “It’s as dark as… a night sky. As if all the stars in the sky chose to blink out all at once, leaving behind nothing but black velvet.”

The angel snorted slightly, amused. “Ah… just as I thought.” With the tip of her finger, she prodded one of the ivory keys in front of her. “The light doesn’t yet understand the beauty of the darkness.”

“... Angel?” V’s head spun, the beginnings of a headache prickling his brain. The night had been long, much too long…when was the last time he had a proper night’s sleep...?

The angel turned her head to face him. Her mask glinted dangerously in the candlelight, and V flinched back.

“My sweet Jihyun, I didn’t expect you to understand yet,” The angel said gently. “But to me… This darkness is home. It embraces me like how a mother ought to cradle her child… it is my lover, my child, my guardian. To me, the darkness protects me from the outside world—it muffles the holy music I create, makes it so _filthy intruders_ can’t sully my hard work.” Her tone became more vicious as she spoke, nearly spitting out the final sentence.

V tried to respond, but he couldn’t force the words out. The angel began to play a melancholy tune on the organ, the somber noise filling the lair like perfume.

“But no matter how loving and tender darkness is…” The angel murmured, almost as if she’d forgotten that V was there. “So, too, light must co-exist with it. The light shines on the darkness, revealing all the dirty secrets kept in this tomb… and the darkness fights back to preserve its dignity, keeping the light in balance. Never too dark, but never too light, either… a perfect balance…”

A tremor ran through her body, and she shuddered jerkily. Her dainty hands danced over the keys.

“Jihyun… _my_ Jihyun…we’ll make such beautiful music together...”

V’s vision began to blur, and he collapsed as the world shifted around him. The organ’s earth-shattering roars were the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness.

* * *

 " _D’you think the angel of music will visit you, mama?”_

_His mother laughed as she tucked him into bed, drawing his quilt under his chin. “No, Jihyun, I think there’s no need for the angel to visit me. If I’ve depended on my own musical capabilities for so long… then I don’t believe I require divine intervention.”_

_“Awww.” Jihyun pouted slightly. “But I wanna see her…”_

_Chuckling, his mother ran her fingers through his bangs, combing his hair as deftly as she handled her violin. “Then how about I make a promise? I promise that if I ever see the angel of music, I shall send her to you. I have no doubt that she will look after you like you were her own child… if I can trust anyone with my sweet boy, it would be an angel such as her.”_

_“Really, mama!?” Jihyun gasped eagerly. “Will you really?”_

_His mother smiled gently and bent forward, kissing his forehead. “Of course, my darling Jihyun. Anything for you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least Rika didn't pull out a mirror groom. That tends to kill more conversations than it starts.


	5. I Remember/Stranger Than You Dreamt It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm going to be honest - I wasn't 100% sure if it was a good idea to make Rika disfigured, since that goes against canon (and let's be honest, she doesn't have to be disfigured to scare the shit out of me). After thinking it over, however, I decided to err on the side of Andrew Lloyd Webber and not Dario Argento, so that's why she's portrayed with a disfigured face.  
> DISCLAIMER: I do not hate people with deformities, and I will try not to harp on Rika's injuries. Just keep in mind Christine's wise words: "It's in your SOUL that the true distortion lies!"  
> And as always, thanks to Wthigottado for the encouraging message!

_Stranger than you dreamt it..._

_can you even dare to look,_

_or bear to think of me?_

_This loathsome_ gargoyle _, who burns in hell_

_but secretly yearns for heaven?_

_Secretly... secretly…_

* * *

When V woke up the next morning, it took him a moment to realize he wasn’t at his flat.

Gazing up at the stone ceiling above him, he tried to remember the events of the night before. He recalled walking through an abyss; he had a vague memory of a boat gliding across a lake. He remembered blonde hair, a mask, and an angel’s voice…

Memories came flooding back to him. Ah, yes. He had met his angel of music, hadn’t he?

V sat up slowly, his head feeling like it’d been stuffed with cotton. Ignoring how his back ached from sleeping on the stone ground, he glanced around the angel’s sanctuary yet again. His eyes scanned the furniture and knick-knacks before finally landing on the angel herself.

She was huddled on the bench in front of the organ, her knees pulled towards her chest as she stared at a music box seated next to her. The candlelight cast a strange, warm glow over her form, making her look almost ethereal, yet untouchable at the same time. The unmasked portion of her face was exposed to V’s eyes, shadows flickering over her fair features; however, there was enough light to reveal her vacant expression, her fixed gaze on the music box flat and uninterested.

For whatever reason, her expressionless face made V feel… uneasy. It was as if someone had drawn a beautiful picture on a slate, only to erase it to desperately hide a terrible truth. But surely, he was being ridiculous, wasn’t he? After all, the angel hadn’t shown any signs of becoming violent! He was perfectly safe!

… Wasn’t he?

V shifted slightly, and that made enough noise to catch the angel’s attention. Her head swiveled around to look at V, a large grin on her face.

“Ah! You’re awake!”

Startled by her shift in demeanor, V jerked back. Nevertheless, he forced himself to stand on his trembling legs and gave his angel a shaky smile. The angel clapped her hands happily, as if V’s smile was the most precious thing in the world. “Come here, my angel!”

Walking made V’s legs wobble (either from nerves or leftover sleepiness, he couldn’t tell which), but he obeyed the angel’s order. She pulled the music box onto her lap and scooted over, giving V some room to sit. V settled next to her, carefully making sure there was enough distance between the two of them. 

The angel reached underneath the bench and pulled out a mint-green ledger. With a flourish, she opened the cover and held it out to V. “Can you sing a few notes for me, my sun?”

V nodded, hesitatingly taking the ledger out of her hands. His eyes skimmed over the notes scrawled across the page, and he noticed that they were specifically geared towards those in the baritone vocal range—in other words, written for people like him.

“Of course, my angel.” Giving her a strained smile, V waited for his cue to start singing (he learned very early on that the angel did _not_ tolerate him jumping into a song). His cue came in the form of the angel pressing down on the organ keys; as soon as the organ roared to life, V began to sing.

As he sang, it soon became clear that the song had been tailored-made to perfectly fit his voice. All of the notes were in his range; none of them were too high for him to reach, carefully crafted to show off his strengths and to downplay his weaknesses. None of this was too out of the ordinary, but it felt like it fit him… _too_ perfectly, as if the composer had carefully memorized his voice’s every pitch and tone. Despite his misgivings, V tried to brush off his concerns—the angel was a musical genius, so of course she’d be able to remember what her pupil’s voice sounded like!

And yet… and yet… there was still that nagging feeling that _wouldn’t go away_.

As V belted out the final note, he saw the angel gazing at him with something like…desperation? Longing? A mixture of the two? V couldn’t quite pinpoint the emotion, but whatever it was made him feel pity towards the angel in front of him. For a moment, he was tempted to reach out towards the angel, to provide some sort of comfort to her, but she turned away before he had the chance to lift his hand.

After the angel cleared her throat, she gave him a round of applause. “Bravo, monsieur!” She chirped with a laugh. V chuckled and bowed, feeling somewhat bashful—the angel’s compliments tended to do that to him.

“It was my pleasure, my angel. I couldn’t have done it without your fine teaching.”

The angel beamed at his words and took the ledger out of V’s hands. Humming cheerfully, she flipped through the worn, yellowed pages, skimming through her music sheets. “Thank you, my sun. Still, I’m not fully satisfied with how I wrote some of my pieces—I need to work harder to create the perfect song for you!” She glanced up at V, her eye briefly flashing with possessiveness. “But now that you’re here, it’ll be so much easier! Just think—the two of us down here together, forever making beautiful music!”

V’s smile froze.

“... What?” He said, his voice no more than a whisper.

The angel blinked and tilted her head, the shadows dancing across her face with the movement. Was it just the candlelight playing tricks on V’s eyes, or did the angel look… displeased?

“Didn’t I tell you this last night?” She said with a clipped tone. “You’re to stay down here with me. How else do you expect me to write songs for you, my darling Jihyun?”

V only stared at her in shock, hoping she was pulling a joke on him. However, there was no humor to be found in the angel’s expression—instead, there was only that cold, vacant look from earlier that morning.

Her words from the night before rang in his ears.

_“Jihyun… my Jihyun…we’ll make such beautiful music together…”_

Of course. He’d been a fool to think that the angel wouldn’t demand a sacrifice from him—what divine ( _demonic_ , V’s mind corrected, but he banished that thought.) being _didn’t_ bargain with lowly humans in exchange for their services? But for some reason, it felt like the price for his voice was too _hefty_. How could he be expected to just… discard his previous life without a second thought, like it was some sort of dirty rag?

Ice-cold fingers clasped his chin in a tight hold. V let out a strangled gasp and tried to jerk away, but the fingers simply tightened their grip.

“You think too much, Jihyun.” The angel’s voice was as cold as her touch. “Usually, I find that trait of yours charming, but it’s only irritating me right now.”

Right. He wasn’t supposed to think; he wasn’t supposed to question his angel. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help the pained whisper that passed his lips.

“B-but… my friends…”

 _“Friends?”_ The angel sneered, her lip curling in disgust. “You mean those two shrieking paupers that live in my theater? Or that vain dandy I _so kindly_ took out of commission last night?”

She released his chin and pushed V backward, causing him to fall onto his rear. Ignoring V’s cry of shock, the angel laced her fingers through her victim’s mint-colored bangs and yanked his head back, forcing him to look up at her.

“Or maybe you want to see that _man_ again!?” The angel snarled. “Do you wish you were with _him_ instead of me?!”

“W-who are you—?” V desperately tried to remember who she was referring to, his eyes widening in horror once the realization settled in.

 _Jumin!_ Oh god, he was supposed to have dinner with Jumin last night! How did he forget a meeting with his oldest friend so easily…?!

As if sensing who his thoughts were drifting towards, the angel gave his hair another pull. V yelped as his eyes watered.

“You’d get on your knees for _him,_ wouldn’t you?! I saw how he looked at you last night—he was like a wolf sizing up a lamb! Why did you _let_ such a vile man put his hands on you?!”

 _What was she talking about?!_ The searing pain radiating from his scalp prevented V from thinking clearly, leaving his brain muddled with terror.

“A-angel, please!” V begged. “Y-you’re hurting me—!”

He immediately regretted his pleas for mercy; previous situations taught him that the angel had no patience for those who shed tears in the face of punishment, and he was no exception to that rule. Sure enough, the angel emitted a demonic shriek and pulled V’s head back further, causing V to fear that his neck would snap from the pressure.

 _“Quiet!”_ She screeched, trembling with anger. “I gave you a voice, and _this_ is how you repay me, you ungrateful rat?! I should’ve ripped out your lying tongue instead!”

The next few seconds were a blur; all V could remember was the angel’s hand darting towards his face, which caused him to automatically slam his eyes shut as his own hands flew up to her shoulders. He had no intention of harming the angel, but he was desperate to get her to _stop_ , to calm her down in any way possible.

Regardless, once his hand accidentally swiped at her face and sent the porcelain half-mask hurtling towards the ground, V realized that he’d made a terrible mistake.

The mask clattered onto the stone, the noise drowned out by the angel’s scream of rage and horror. The implications of his action caused V to freeze in place, his stomach churning with nausea.

His eyes were still closed; he didn’t want to open them, terrified of the reality unfolding before him. Yet, he knew that he had to pay for his transgressions one way or another, and how could he do that if he remained blind to their consequences?

So, V forced his eyes open and turned his gaze onto his angel. The sight that greeted him caused him to gasp in shock, and it took all of his willpower to not scramble backward.

It was as if someone had drawn an invisible line down the middle of her face, splitting it into two. The left side—the one she had left uncovered—looked relatively unblemished, with creamy peach skin and pink lips. The right side, on the other hand…V hesitated to even say that she still _had_ flesh there.

For on the right side of her face, it looked as though something—or _someone—_ had burnt the skin to a crisp.

In lieu of actual flesh, there were instead layers of black, red, and yellow scar tissue, healed in a way that made it look like her face was melting off of her skull. Part of her nose was crooked, doubtlessly warped by the flames that had damaged her face, her nostril a black, gaping hole. While it was certainly a gruesome sight, it wasn’t her disfigured face that terrified V; no, what made V’s heart pound rapidly in his chest was the sheer, undisguised _hate_ in her green eyes, even though one of them was a mere slit in a sea of brittle red tissue.

The angel spent a moment merely glaring at V with those hateful eyes. Finally, she spoke, hissing out the sentence like a snake.

“Damn you…” Her words were quiet but rose in volume as she continued to speak. “DAMN YOU!”

V scrambled to his feet at the exact moment the angel lunged at him. Shocked by his brush with danger, he stumbled backward, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared at the fuming angel. She spun towards him and snarled like a wild animal, her hand covering her burnt face.

“DAMN YOU!” She screamed again, lurching towards him. V backed away quickly, stammering out apologies that fell on deaf ears. “You _Judas!_ Is this what you wanted to see?!”

She sprinted towards her pupil and grasped his shoulders, her fingers cruelly digging into his flesh. V cried out in pain.

“Angel! I-I’m so sorry, I didn't—!”

“SHUT UP!” The angel screamed. She shook V back and forth like a rag doll, causing his teeth to chatter from the sheer force of her movements. “You wanted to see it, didn't you?! Then look at it! Feast your eyes on my hideous face!”

A shrill laugh erupted from the angel’s throat, followed closely by a choked sob.

“I should've known! You're no different from every other miserable person in my life! All you want to do is laugh at me, right?! So do it! Laugh at the poor, weak little girl with the soul that’s black as tar!!”

Her body began to shake. Sobbing, she released her hold on V and sunk to her knees, covering her face with her hands.

“M-my sun… my angel…”

V felt his heart break at the pitiful display in front of him. _How could he be so cruel and heartless to his angel_?

Quickly, he rushed to the angel’s side and crouched down. He briefly debated whether or not he should put his hand on her shoulder, but he knew the angel would likely interpret his attempt at comfort as a threat; instead, he twisted his fingers into the fabric of his pants, the coarse material scratching at his fingertips.

“Angel…” He whispered frantically. “Angel, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me… I didn't mean to treat you so shamefully…!”

In the back of his mind, he wondered what, exactly, he was apologizing for. Yes, he had knocked the mask off the angel’s face, but that had truly been an accident brought about by his own clumsiness! Perhaps if he just explained that to his angel…

No. It didn’t matter what his intentions supposedly were. What mattered was that he had upset his angel, and he had to make amends in any way possible.

They stayed like that for the next few moments, the minutes filled with the angel’s wails and V’s pleas for forgiveness. Finally, the angel’s cries tapered off into silence; however, she did not move to get up and remained huddled on the ground, as still as a marble statue. Aware that speaking would probably make the situation worse, V merely watched her mutely.

At long last, the angel looked up. The left portion of her face resumed its blank expression; the right side was too damaged to convey any sort of facial movement.

“Don’t look at me with those eyes,” She hissed. “Don’t you dare show me pity after the way you treated me!”

V flinched at her harsh tone. “Please, my angel… I’m so sorry…”

The angel scoffed and turned her face away. “How do you expect me to believe that, Jihyun?” Abruptly, she swiveled her head back around to glare at V, her eyes dull and lifeless. “How can you not be revolted by this repulsive girl who sits before you?” As she spoke, she slowly crept closer to V; soon, she was close enough to clamp her hands around his wrists. “An ugly, vile child who knows nothing but the darkness inside her…”

She squeezed down on V’s wrists. Wincing, V briefly wondered if his punishment was to have his bones ground into powder; still, he said nothing and only stared at his angel with wide eyes. The angel continued to feverishly mutter to herself, only half-addressing V.

“Yes, yes… how can the light understand the darkness? But if the light is snuffed out… then only the darkness remains. How, then, can I make the light depend on the darkness?” She jerked her gaze back up to V’s face. “Perhaps I can… take out his beautiful eyes? Choke him till he can only croak like a toad? Or perhaps I can… eliminate his own light? That man who visited my lovely angel last night… should I simply wrap a noose around that monster’s white neck?”

_No! Not Jumin…!_

“N-no…!” V finally choked out, his face paling in horror. “P-please, angel, just take out your anger on me…!”

The angel stared at him for another moment, still gripping onto his wrists tightly. Finally, she released her hold and gave V a shove, his elbows connecting with the ground as she stood up.

“I must return you to the theater,” The angel said coldly, turning her back towards V. “That foolish girl will doubtlessly notice your absence. Give me a moment, however—I must retrieve something.”

She walked towards the tapestry on the wall, stopping a few inches away from it. She pushed the fabric to the side, and V caught a glimpse of a man-sized entrance hidden behind it. The angel merely walked through the gap like it was a door, the fabric falling back into place behind her.

Once he was certain the angel was gone, V sucked in a shaky breath. Peering down at his wrist, he saw the finger-shaped bruises that decorated his skin, mottled blue and purples forming an ugly bracelet. Frustrated, V shut his eyes.

_Why did he always ruin everything?_


	6. Notes/Prima Donna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was also a pain to write - I knew what I wanted to happen, but I didn't know how to put it into words. DX Still, I think it turned out ok!  
> Some notes (LOL)  
> * For those of you worried about this becoming a VRika fic, don't worry! The JuminV content starts in this chapter!  
> * Jeong's a random OC I made solely for someone to take on Buquet's role in the story. I don't have the heart to kill off canon characters, unlike SOME VIDEO GAME COMPANIES. *Glares at Cheritz*  
> * I'm not sure when the next two chapters will come out - I've been having a difficult time focusing recently, and school's been eating away most of my time. Still, I'll do my best to have them written soon!

_What a way to run a business,_

_spare me these unending trials._

_Half your cast disappears but the crowd still cheers!_

_Opera! To hell with Gluck and Handel,_

_it's a scandal that'll pack 'em in the aisles!_

* * *

 “I swear on my life, I’ve never been so frightened!” Jeong, the scene-shifter, waved his arms above his head, nearly knocking down the poor ballerina standing next to him. “Her face was as yellow and waxy as a melted candle! I thought her skin would drip onto the floor!”

The ballerinas around Jeong gasped eagerly, thrilled by the man’s newest ghost story. Saeran watched the scene with an impassive face, sucking on a peppermint stick he’d managed to buy from the sweet shop across from the theater.

Jeong, Saeran thought, was a lot like Saeyoung, in that they were both loud, annoying oafs who liked to goof off; however, Jeong lacked the occasional charm Saeyoung possessed that made him tolerable to be around, and twice as stupid to boot. Out of all the theater employees, Jeong was the one most obsessed with the so-called phantom—he would often try to impress the ballerinas by telling them stories of their “encounters,” and for whatever reason, the dancers ate it up.

“And around her neck…” Jeong whispered, his gray eyes bulging out of his head, “Was her…”

With a flourish, he pulled a noose out from his sleeve and held it out towards his captive audience.

“ _Magical lasso!_ ” He cried, dropping the noose around his neck while pretending to choke.

A few of the ballerinas shrieked at his antics. Saeran, on the other hand, snorted.

“Bullshit.” He mumbled, snapping off the end of his peppermint with his teeth. He loudly crunched on it, showing exactly what he thought of Jeong’s tall tales.

Jeong tilted his head at the noise and turned to the box Saeran was perched on.

“Is there a problem, _Monsieur_ Choi?” Jeong asked with a condescending grin. Saeran rolled his eyes and gave another crunch.

“You mean specifically, or just with you?” Saeran replied. “Because my problems with you are easier to narrow down.”

Some of the members of Jeong’s audience shuffled back, clearly sensing a fight on the horizon.

“Oh, yes, we all know how you and your brother accept… _charity_ from the theater.” Jeong sneered, and it took all of Saeran’s willpower to not punch his ugly face in. “But please, Monsieur Choi—what part of my story did you object to?”

Saeran took another bite of his peppermint stick.

“Honestly? Pretty much all of it,” He said in between munches, swallowing before he started his next sentence. “I live in this theater, you dumbass. I think I’d know if there was a ghost floating around.”

To be quite honest, Saeran had never really believed in ghosts. Oh, he did when he was younger, when he was a sickly brat who cried for his twin brother whenever the shadows flashed their ugly, dripping fangs, but he wasn't a child anymore; he had since learned that the only monster in that dank shack was the bitch who called herself his mother, not some creature lurking in the dark. Why should some so-called phantom be any different?

Jeong laughed. “Are you certain, monsieur? I believe your brother would beg to disagree—ah, but he’s the smart twin, isn’t he?”

Saeran’s grip on the peppermint stick tightened, and he barely noticed when it broke in half.

“Go to hell!” Saeran moved to stand up, but he was interrupted by Yoosung dashing towards him. Frantically, the boy grabbed his shoulders and forced him to remain seated.

“Wait!” Yoosung cried. “J-Jeong, what’re you talking about? What does Saeyoung know?”

Jeong laughed as the ballerinas started to whisper to each other eagerly.

“Oh, I don’t _know_ what Saeyoung knows, pup.” He smirked. “But let me tell you this—there were many nights where both Saeyoung and I overheard Monsieur V’s singing lessons. Saeyoung, the hard working fellow, always left before Monsieur V finished—I, however, sensed that something was afoot, so I eavesdropped almost every night. And one night… my patience was rewarded!”

The ballerinas gasped in unison. Yoosung’s face was pure white, and even Saeran started to feel uneasy.

“For that night… when Monsieur V stopped his ugly croaking… I heard a voice ring out.” Jeong started to move towards Saeran and Yoosung. “And it was not Monsieur V’s—no, no, that man has the voice of a bullfrog! _This_ voice was the voice of an angel—or, perhaps I should say, the voice of a _ghost!_ ”

Saeran felt his stomach drop.

“And I heard the voice cry out—just like this, mind! — _‘Bravo! Bravo, monsieur!’”_

He punctuated his final words with a loud scream in Saeran’s face, which caused the ballerinas to shriek and flee in terror. Saeran, for his part, flinched back with a yelp, and Jeong laughed in amusement.

“Oh! So, does Monsieur Choi finally believe in the opera ghost?”

“L-leave him alone!” Yoosung piped up, his voice shaking. “Y-you don’t know what you’re talking about, jerk!”

The sound of footsteps running towards them stopped any retort Jeong was about to make.

“Hello?!” A voice called. “I heard screaming! Is everyone alright?!”

Saeran enjoyed the fear that flickered across Jeong’s face before the scene-shifter turned around, scurrying away like a rat. He finally exhaled, only then realizing he’d been holding his breath.

_Why the hell did that scare me?_

Sure, Jeong implied that Saeyoung was aware of the opera ghost’s existence, but then again, it was _Jeong_ he was talking about; Saeran wouldn’t trust anything that man said, even if he told him the grass was green. Not only that, but Saeyoung was extremely protective of Saeran—hell, Saeran couldn’t even sneeze without having his idiot twin brother panicking up a storm, so if there _was_ a ghost, Saeyoung would’ve sewn himself to Saeran’s ass by now.

_Besides, Saeyoung would tell me about this kind of thing…. right?_

_…_ That was a moot point because _there was no such thing as ghosts_ in the first place. But if they did exist, Saeran was going to kick Saeyoung’s ass for hiding that information.

“Monsieur Saeran?”

Saeran blinked when he heard his name being said softly. He looked up to see Mademoiselle Chung standing in front of him, a concerned expression on her face.

“Yeah?” He asked gruffly (God forbid he showed _emotion_ in front of her). “What do you want?”

“What was that all about?” Mademoiselle Chung asked, gesturing towards the spot Jeong had previously been occupying. “I heard a lot of screaming, so I thought someone was getting hurt…”

Saeran shrugged. “Nah, it was just some of your employees being idiots.” Glancing down at his hand, he noticed that one half of his broken peppermint stick laid on the dusty floor. _Dammit._ “Some moron had the bright idea to tell the ballerinas a ghost story, and…”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something flutter next to the crate he sat on. Frowning, he craned his neck to examine the object, not bothering to finish up the sentence he had started.

“Monsieur Saeran?” He heard Mademoiselle Chung ask. Yoosung echoed a similar sentiment, his voice wavering in confusion. Saeran ignored the both of them as he reached down and carefully picked up the mysterious item.

“Mademoiselle Chung?” Saeran said drily. “I think this is for you.”

* * *

 Mademoiselle Chung entered her office, rubbing her forehead wearily. She glanced down at the letter Saeran gave her and re-read it for the fifth time.

_Darling Mademoiselle Chung,_

_Last night’s performance was simply wonderful! V was absolutely splendid in the role of the phoenix, and I am certain I shall be seeing him in many more shows to come. With enough dedication, you may be able to surpass Monsieur Nolan in regards to ticket sales!_

_I also wish to inform you that I am expecting my daily salary, which shall be left in an envelope in Box 5. Monsieur Nolan may have neglected to discuss my income with you, so I shall merely say this—_ it behooves you to obey my orders.

_Sincerely, Madame Phantom._

Once Mademoiselle Chung reached the end of the letter, she released a loud sigh.

Was this someone’s idea of a prank? No, no—the friendly but vaguely ominous tone permeating throughout the writing suggested this was the author’s attempt at a get-rich-quick scheme. Who on earth would go through the trouble of writing a letter like this for sport?

_As if I didn’t have enough letters to deal with right now…_

Her gaze landed on the pile of envelopes stacked on her desk, and she sighed again.

Before she’d heard the screaming coming from the ballerinas, she had been reading her way through the huge mound, wading her way through the words written on every scrap of paper. Some of the letters praised V’s performance the night before, and she actually enjoyed reading those; yes, she knew that constructive criticism was important, but it was nice to receive positive feedback once in a while, especially since V sang so beautifully onstage. That being said, the rest of the letters were… not so positive. It seemed as though Zen’s fans did _not_ like the idea of another singer temporarily replacing their favorite celebrity, something that they made _very_ clear through either death threats or passive-aggressive comments about never attending the opera again. Oh, they didn’t say a word about V’s _actual_ singing abilities—to them, merely taking Zen’s place for one night was a crime punishable by death.

At any rate, Mademoiselle Chung knew that she would find a few new grey hairs once the day had ended.

“Hail, hail, divine goddess! What ails thee this morn?”

Mademoiselle Chung looked up to see Saeyoung leaning against the doorframe. Instantly, she sensed that something was off—the redhead’s smile looked a little _too_ forced, and his posture was a little _too_ stiff. Still, she thought it was best not to mention it at the moment, preferring to see what kind of news Saeyoung had to report before she asked.

“The divine goddess,” She replied drily, too tired to muster up the cheer she usually displayed, “is extremely irritated by a swarm of pests that decided to contact her.”

“Oh, dear! You were stung by Zen’s fan club so soon?” Saeyoung’s smirk looked a bit more genuine. “Ah, ‘tis a pity. Zen so enjoys the devotion of his fans, but even he is not safe from their wrath. One wrong move, and....!” He made a buzzing sound as he mimed stinging himself. Mademoiselle Chung couldn’t help but giggle.

“I pity the man who gets in between the bees and their honey.” She said, waving her hand. The letter crinkled in between her fingers, which seemed to attract Saeyoung’s attention.

“Ah, what’s this?” He hummed, taking a few steps towards the manager. “A letter from a secret admirer?”

Mademoiselle Chung snorted. “If it is, it's certainly an odd one.” Briefly, she debated whether she should confide in Saeyoung about the strange letter. Several quirks aside, he seemed trustworthy enough—besides, if he recognized the handwriting, he could possibly direct her towards the culprit. “Saeyoung, can I ask you a question?”

“Ask away.”

“Thank you.” Mademoiselle Chung held the letter out to Saeyoung, who merely gave her a puzzled look before taking it out of her hands. “Do you know who would send something like this?”

Saeyoung skimmed through the letter, humming thoughtfully. “Hmmm… V has a fan already? Lucky bastard… let’s see… ticket sales, blah, blah, blah…”

Once he reached the second paragraph, he lapsed into silence; by the time he read the signature, his face had paled considerably, making his red hair stand out like blood.

“... Saeyoung?!” Alarmed, Mademoiselle Chung rushed towards her employee and gently grasped his elbow. “A-are you alright? If you know who sent it, that’s okay… I won’t fire them, I’ll just give them a warn--”

Saeyoung shook her hand off his body. “No, no. That’s the problem.” As he spoke, his voice slowly lost all of its cheer, a change made all the more jarring by the somber frown he wore. “I _don’t_ know who sent this.”

“Hm?” Mademoiselle Chung blinked, confused. “Well, it’s alright if you don’t know, either. I just wanted to see if I could get a second opinion on it—”

“Wait.” Saeyoung held his hand up. “Let me finish. I don’t know who sent this… but I recognize the handwriting.”   

It took a second for Saeyoung’s words to sink in. “... So you’ve seen letters like this before?”

“Yeah,” Saeyoung said, jerking his head in a nod. “Well, kind of. Monsieur Nolan used to receive letters exactly like this one—only sometimes, the writer would sign the envelope. I've never read any of the actual letters before, but I remember the name on the _envelope_ as clear as day.”

“... What was it?” Mademoiselle Chung couldn't help but feel a little concerned. Whatever… _this_ was, it clearly started way before she became the manager—perhaps even years ago. If this was a prank, it certainly had been going on for a long time…

Saeyoung looked at her, his spectacles gleaming.

“The name on the envelope,” he said gravely. “Was Madame Phantom.”

Mademoiselle Chung stared at him blankly, a scene from the day before flashing through her mind.

_“The phantom… the phantom! This is her doing!”_

She was shaken out of her memories by the sound of her office door opening.

“Where is he?” The question, spoken in a voice as cold as a shard of ice, pierced her eardrums. Mademoiselle Chung recognized the voice instantly, and she turned towards the speaker, puzzled.

“Monsieur Han?” She asked.

Sure enough, Jumin Han stood at the doorframe of her office. He fixed his steely glare on Mademoiselle Chung and briskly walked forward, as if he was attending a business meeting.

“Jihyun Kim.” Jumin repeated, crossing his arms. Despite the look on his face, his voice remained even. “Where is he?”

Mademoiselle Chung blinked. “Jihyun Kim…?”

Jumin scoffed. “ _V._ I was supposed to meet him for supper last night, but he failed to show up. I presume you knew about this?”

Saeyoung’s head shot up, his golden eyes widening. “Wait, what?” He asked, something akin to panic lacing his voice. “V’s gone?”

“Yes,” Jumin replied simply. His hands adjusted his wrist cuffs, which was the only visual sign of his irritation. “Wasn't that what you wrote in your letter, Mademoiselle Chung?”

“...Letter?” Mademoiselle Chung asked slowly, hoping she’d misheard him. “What was in that letter?”

Jumin sighed and took a folded piece of paper out of his vest pocket. “I advise you to not take me for a fool, Mademoiselle Chung. After all…”

As soon as Mademoiselle Chung’s hands were on Jumin’s letter, she tuned out the sound of his voice and began to read the inky words scrawled onto the paper.

_Do not fear for Monsieur Jihyun Kim. The angel of music has him under her wing. Make no attempt to see him again._

_Signed, Madame Phantom._

A shudder crept up Mademoiselle Chung’s spine as she re-read the note. The handwriting in Jumin's letter was almost a perfect match with the note Mademoiselle Chung received; if that wasn't damning enough, then the neat, albeit spidery signature of _“Madame Phantom”_ sealed the deal.

_No wonder Monsieur Nolan was so eager to escape yesterday…_

Ah. Yet again, the whispers of _“The phantom! The phantom!”_ wouldn't leave her be.

“Saeyoung?” She asked. “The phantom that you told me about yesterday… are these letters from someone pretending to be her?”

“Huh?” Saeyoung, who had been pacing back and forth, paused and turned towards Mademoiselle Chung. “Uh, I guess so. I dunno. It's just…” He resumed pacing and began to mumble under his breath. At one point, she heard something that sounded like, “—but if she's writing about V all of a sudden—!” before devolving into more incomprehensible mutterings.

Mademoiselle Chung’s head started to swim in confusion, and she was almost relieved when they were interrupted yet again.

“What the _hell’s_ the meaning of this?!” Zen stormed into the office, glaring at the piece of paper clutched in his hand.

“Oh, Zen!” Mademoiselle Chung exclaimed. Despite the grave circumstances, she couldn’t help but smile when she saw that Zen lacked a limp. “Is your ankle feeling better?”

Zen paused and looked at her, plastering on a grin that was _somewhat_ genuine. “Ah, darling Mademoiselle Chung! Yes, my ankle is as good as new, thanks for asking!” The grin fell away when he finished speaking, and he turned to scowl at Jumin. “What’re you up to, you rich bastard?! You’re trying to make me give up my entire damn career! What, was hurting my ankle not enough for you, you sadist?!”

Jumin, at least, had the decency to look surprised. “... What on earth are you ranting about? Why would I desire to ruin your career?”  

“Don’t play dumb, you blue-blooded prick!” Zen snarled, shoving the paper in Jumin’s face. “I’ve heard about how close you and V are! Lemme tell you something—if V finds out you’re trying to replace me with him, he’ll dump your ass so hard that even your _money_ won’t be able to—!”

“YOINK!” Saeyoung snatched the letter from Zen’s hands.

“HEY! Give that back, you…!” Zen tried to grab the sneaky redhead, but Saeyoung expertly dodged his outstretched hands and scampered behind Mademoiselle Chung’s desk. “What the hell, Saeyoung! Have you've gone mad?!”

“Zen, _please_ calm down!” Mademoiselle Chung begged. “We’ve received a letter earlier that disturbed us greatly, and we need to see if yours came from the same person!”

At her words, Zen blinked, his anger dissipating slightly. “Wait… you got a letter, too?”

“Yeppppp.” Saeyoung replied, drawing out the last letter longer than necessary. “Not only that, but they're all written by the same author. Get a load of this!” He adjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat, adopting a higher-pitched voice as he read Zen’s note out loud.

“ _Your days at the opera house are numbered. Jihyun Kim will be singing on your behalf tonight. Be prepared for a great misfortune should you attempt to take his place._

_Signed, Madame Phantom.”_

The office was deathly quiet, everyone too shocked (or, in Jumin's case, confused) to speak. Jumin was the first to break the silence.

“Mademoiselle Chung, I believe I deserve an explanation,” He said sharply. Nevertheless, Mademoiselle Chung noticed that his brows were furrowed in worry, and she had no doubt he was concerned about V’s well-being. “Jihyun and I have been friends for years, and if he's in harm’s way, I have the right to know.”

“O-of course, Monsieur Han.” Mademoiselle Chung felt somewhat intimidated by the stern glare on Jumin’s face, but she drew herself up to her full height (which, admittedly, wasn’t much compared to Jumin) and nodded. “So, as I understand it…”

She did her best to explain the letters to the newcomers, along with the information Saeyoung had provided her with. Occasionally, Saeyoung chimed in with his own theory, but he seemed mostly content with letting her do the talking.

Once she finished her tale, Jumin’s lips were pressed into a thin line, while Zen’s eyebrows were arched in confusion.

“... I’m uncertain if these letters are tied to V’s disappearance.” Mademoiselle Chung admitted. “Still, this “Madame Phantom”—whoever she is—apparently had a strong hold on Monsieur Nolan, and I believe she’s trying to establish a similar relationship with me.”

Jumin narrowed his eyes. “If what you’re saying is correct, then I believe it’s highly suspicious that these letters were sent after Jihyu— _V_ vanished. Furthermore—” 

A cough came from the doorway. Mademoiselle Chung looked up to see Jaehee standing there, her posture as professional as always.

“... Pardon me, Monsieur Han,” Jaehee said, her voice shaking slightly despite her outwardly calm demeanor. “But Monsieur V has returned.”

There was a collective sigh of relief from all the occupants in the office. Even Jumin seemed to relax slightly, though it was subtler.

“Thank you, Assistant Kang.” He said as he turned around. “Where is he now? I must speak to him.”

Jaehee hesitated. “...That might not be an advisable idea.”

“Why not?” Jumin’s tone was much sharper, though Jaehee didn’t seem bothered by it.

“He went back to his flat, Monsieur Han.” She said gently, as if she was explaining to a child why he couldn’t have sweets before dinner. “Monsieur V seemed very… distressed, and he wasn’t in good shape when I encountered him.”

“ _What?!”_ This time, Jumin spoke in unison with Saeyoung. Both of them seemed angry, but in somewhat different ways—the only thing that gave Jumin’s rage away was the cold tone of his voice, while Saeyoung’s glare was downright murderous.

“That’s not all,” Jaehee added as she held up an unopened envelope. “V gave this to me before he left. He refused to tell me who gave it to him, though he claimed to be in the dark about the actual contents of the letter. I can read it to you all, if you’d like.”

At the sight of the envelope, Mademoiselle Chung wanted to scream. However, she swallowed down the urge and forced a smile. “Thank you, Jaehee. That would be appreciated.”

Jaehee opened the envelope, the ripping sound echoing in the silent office. They all watched her take the letter out of its confines, opening the paper neatly before she began to read in a strong, firm voice.

“ _Dear Mademoiselle Chung, you have doubtlessly realized that several of your employees have received letters from me, along with the note I sent you. I regret to see that you have not followed my instructions yet. I shall give you one chance to fulfill them.”_

Mademoiselle Chung turned pale and gulped quietly.

_“Jihyun Kim—or V, if you prefer to call him that—has been returned to you, and I am anxious for his singing career to start. Therefore, he shall have the role of the Count in tonight’s production of “Il Muto.” The Count’s role calls for charm and charisma, which leads me to believe that it will suit Monsieur V perfectly.”_

Jumin nodded, agreeing with the writer’s assessment about V.

_“Of course, someone must play The Mute—therefore, the role will be played by Zen, who is a talented actor but lacks the qualities that the Count exhibits.”_

“What the—!” Zen started to growl, but stopped at Jaehee’s stern look.

_“I shall be watching the performance tonight in my usual seat in Box 5, which MUST be kept empty for me. Should you ignore my commands, a disaster beyond all your imagination will occur.”_

Mademoiselle Chung’s skin crawled. Jaehee’s voice trembled as she read the final words, her voice losing much of its steadiness.

_“Sincerely yours, Madame Phantom.”_

Once again, the occupants of the office were stunned into silence; at that moment in time, there were funeral homes more lively than Mademoiselle Chung’s office.

Then, Zen spun around and stomped over to Jumin.

 _“YOU!”_ He snarled. “Do you know anything about this, you bastard?!”

Jumin blinked, though he didn’t seem frightened of Zen; if anything, he looked merely annoyed. “I have already informed you that I had no part in this. I hadn’t seen Jihyun in years; I was only reunited with him last night.”

Zen snorted. “Yeah, right! Convenient that you went to the opera on the day I _just so happened_ to hurt my ankle! Do I look stupid to you?!”

“... You really do not want me to answer that.” Jumin replied coldly. Mademoiselle Chung jumped up from her seat when Zen growled, hoping to minimize the damage done to her office.

“Settle down, you two!” She begged. “Look, we can figure out who sent the letters later! Right now, we need to decide what to do for the performance tonight!”

Zen made a face, but he nodded and took a deep breath. “...Yeah. You’re right, Mademoiselle Chung. What do you think we should do?”

“You make it sound like we have a choice,” Saeyoung said quietly. “You heard what the ghost said— _should you ignore my commands, a disaster beyond all your imagination will occur.”_ Once again, his tone raised in pitch as he quoted the letter, doing a relatively convincing impression of a female voice.

“Yes, but it’s not that simple,” Mademoiselle Chung sighed as she gestured towards the pile of letters on her desk. She gave a brief summary of what was in the letters, including how Zen’s fans were demanding he return to acting and their resentment towards V.

“Huh?” Zen looked dumbfounded. “They actually said that?”

Jaehee nodded. “I can concur, Monsieur Zen. Many members of the press were also disappointed that you didn’t perform last night, and while V did receive good reviews, they also made it clear they’d rather see you sing instead of him.”

“Wha—?” Zen sputtered. “It’s not like I _wanted_ to sit out on last night’s show! I hurt my ankle! What do they want from me?!”

Mademoiselle Chung shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. All I know is that if V plays your part for the second night in a row, things might get… ugly.”

“Loss of revenue.” Jumin mused, as if he was all too familiar with this situation. “Though I cannot imagine why they dislike V so much. He’s nearly on par with Zen—perhaps even surpasses him, I might add.”

Zen’s eye twitched. “Okay, you’re _really_ not helping your case here, buddy.”

“Monsieur Han is biased,” Jaehee said quickly, as if she was trying to reassure Zen. “But he is correct about the lost revenue—it’s possible to lose many of the theater’s patrons that way. And besides, I’m not sure if it would be a good idea to send Monsieur V onstage in his current condition.”

“So, _now_ what do we do?” Saeyoung said. It looked like he didn’t particularly enjoy the discussion they were having, and Mademoiselle Chung couldn’t blame him—she didn’t like it either. “We either have V sing and lose customers, or we have Zen sing and risk pissing off some random person obsessed with V.”

Mademoiselle Chung thought for a moment. True, the amount of revenue had to be taken into consideration, but she didn't think of herself as an amoral woman; she wasn't greedy enough to sacrifice her employees in the name of ticket sales. Yet, if what Jaehee said was true, there was no guarantee that V would be able to sing that night…

_… But what about tomorrow night?_

“Saeyoung, do you think it’s possible for us to… compromise with whoever’s writing the notes?”

“Huh?” Saeyoung blinked. “I dunno… depends on what the compromise is, probably. I’m guessing that Monsieur Nolan gave the author whatever they wanted, but maybe a compromise isn’t… impossible?”

“Ah.” Mademoiselle Chung nodded. “Than… I may have a solution.”

“What is it?!” Zen demanded, putting his hands on her desk and leaning forward. Mademoiselle Chung was acutely aware that he wasn’t the only one anxious—even Jumin looked at her with a worried expression, no doubt concerned about V’s involvement in all of this.

“What if…” Mademoiselle Chung said slowly, “Zen plays the lead today, and V plays it tomorrow?”


	7. Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THAT THIS CHAPTER TOOK SO LONG TO COME OUT. School's been kicking my ass for the past few weeks, and I barely had any energy to write for myself. But to make up for it, I posted a spooky chapter on Halloween! That counts, right?
> 
> And as always, thanks to wthigottado for the nice comments! (And to answer your question: my writing ability stems from 70 milligrams of Vyvance and one semester of a writing course that completely crushes your self-esteem. Everyone has their own style of writing, though, and yours is great too!)

_Poor fool, he makes me laugh!_

_Hahahaha!_

_Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!_

_Time I tried to get a better, better half!_

* * *

 

“Monsieur Choi, I’ve no time for games,” Jumin said curtly, crossing his arms over his chest—an action that would’ve looked more intimidating if a stagehand hadn’t chosen that time to almost hit him with a plank of wood. The stagehand stammered out a quick “sorry!” before fleeing the scene, leaving behind an amused Saeyoung and a disgruntled Jumin.

Not for the first time, Jumin wondered why he’d even bothered to attend the opera that evening in the first place. Of course, it was a ridiculous question to ask himself—obviously, he wished to speak with Jihyun before that night’s performance. He’d even prepared a list of questions for his old friend, the most pressing one pertaining to his whereabouts the night before (and goodness, he could already imagine how Jihyun would playfully scoff at “Jumin Han’s excellent checklist,” as he’d once called it). However, even he hadn’t been prepared for the blockade threatening the pathway to his goal.

Said “blockade,” of course, being the redhead that currently stood in front of him.

“Why, Monsieur Han, I am _shocked!”_ Saeyoung declared, pressing his hand against his chest. “Scandalized, even! To come backstage—without a chaperone, I might add!—and so brashly demand to have an audience with our darling new opera star… why, I can only imagine what wicked plans a tall, dark, and dashing scoundrel such as yourself has for our handsome ingenue!”

“Your imagination will have to be satisfied with the reality, then,” Jumin said drily. _Honestly, this man… how could he act so carefree in a time like this?_ “I merely wish to speak with Monsieur Jih— _V_. Surely, that is not a difficult concept for you to understand.”

“Oh, I didn’t say it was _difficult.”_ Saeyoung grinned. It was an expression similar to the one Elizabeth the 3rd wore whenever she chased mice, except significantly less adorable. “After all, I’m willing to look the other way… for a—”

“Too late, Saeyoung,” An amused voice behind Jumin piped up. A man with a striking resemblance to Saeyoung strolled over, carrying a coin purse. “I’ve already pulled that one.”

Jumin felt a migraine steadily approaching.

“What?!” Saeyoung whined, jutting out his lower lip. “Awww, lucky. How much did you ask for, Sae?”

Saeran smirked and waved the coin purse in the air. “Enough to buy us food for two weeks.” He said smugly.

“Whoa, really?” Saeyoung’s expression immediately brightened. “Wow, good for you, Saeran! I’m so proud!”

“Yes, because I’m certain conning men out of their money is a lucrative business strategy.” Granted, it worked for all of Jumin’s father’s mistresses. “Enough of this, Monsieur Choi. If you are not willing to take this matter seriously, I believe that it’d be beneficial for Mademoiselle Chung to receive news of this event.”

“W-wait, what?!” Saeyoung’s face blanched, his grin dissolving into a nervous smile. “H-hey, I _am_ taking this seriously! You would not _believe_ how serious I am! I just—” He glanced over Jumin’s shoulder, desperately meeting his brother’s gaze. “Saeran, what did you tell him?”

Saeran shrugged. “I told him to talk to you.”

“Are you serious?! Ugh… that’s dirty, Saeran.” Grimacing, Saeyoung once again turned to address Jumin. “Uh, well… you see, Monsieur Han… V kinda told us to… stall you.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Jumin asked sharply, narrowing his eyes. His glare only served to intimidate Saeyoung further, for he brought up his hand to anxiously rub the back of his neck. Saeran, however, didn’t seem phased by Jumin’s expression, though that might’ve been because his back was turned towards the heir.

“V said he didn’t want to see you.” Saeran said bluntly.

_… What?_

_“Saeran!”_ Saeyoung hissed. “I was trying to figure out how to say that _nicely!”_

“No, you were just standing there like an idiot! Besides, how the hell _can_ you say that shit nicely?!”

“That’s enough.” Jumin interrupted the squabble before it even began. His head throbbed, the migraine making its presence known. “I will respect Jihyun’s wishes for the time being; however, let him know that I shall be in the audience today and tomorrow night. Tell him that, as his friend, I wish him the best in his future endeavors and to not hesitate to contact me if he needs my aid.”

As Jumin turned to leave, he heard Saeyoung let out an amused snort. “Yeah. _‘As his friend’_ my ass.”

* * *

 

His hands were too shaky.

V hissed in irritation when he botched yet another brushstroke. Narrowing his eyes at the prop vase in his hands, he saw that the lines he’d painted on were too wavy and uneven, as if it’d been done by a toddler. No, scratch that—a toddler would’ve at least made the design look childishly endearing. When a man in his twenties made such a mistake, it just looked stupid.

Deciding that he wouldn’t be able to produce satisfactory results that night, V set the vase to the side. He pulled his knees closer to his chest and leaned further back against the wall, wishing it’d swallow him whole. The songs from the performance onstage floated through his ears, the curtains muffling the words until there was nothing left but the pure, shapeless sound of the actor’s voices.

Briefly, he wondered if anyone else picked up on the ominous atmosphere misting over the theater like a heavy fog, filling V’s lungs and causing him to choke. He knew it was merely wishful thinking—it’d be best if the workers remained ignorant of the haunting presence behind the opera house’s walls. That way, they could all be safe… Mademoiselle Chung, Saeyoung, Saeran, Zen…

 _… Jumin…_   

Images of Jumin being harmed by the angel flashed through V’s head. He squeezed his eyes shut to chase those thoughts away, the angel’s threats against Jumin fresh in his mind.

_No… no, Jumin will be fine. I just have to...stay away from him._

He knew it’d be almost impossible to complete that task. The bond between him and Jumin was as strong as steel, forged by balmy summers and unexpected hardships; wherever V went, Jumin always found a way to get back to him. Wasn’t that proven last night? What else could explain such a random coincidence except for fate and the red strings that tied them together?

But no matter what… V had to keep Jumin safe. That’s why he’d asked the twins to stall Jumin—he had to pretend he had no more interest in his old friend. It broke V’s heart to lie like that, but he kept telling himself he had no other choice; he’d prefer to have Jumin alive and hating him instead of dead and loving him.

 _… Loving me? What—where on earth did_ that _idea come from? And… why does the idea of Jumin loving me make me feel like… like how I did when we were children at the beach again…?_

* * *

 

As Jumin had suspected, the set for that night’s performance had been crafted with care; he’d expected nothing less from a stage group Jihyun was a part of. The cardboard walls that made up the background were painted crimson and trimmed with gold, matching the splendid rug in the middle of the stage. Said walls surrounded a canopy bed with silk sheets and a velvet comforter, lavish and fit for a king. However, the beauty of the fake bedroom wouldn’t have been complete without the crystal chandelier hanging above the set—an exact replica of the chandelier in the auditorium, in fact.  

Sitting in his theater seat, Jumin watched the opera unfold with only a mild interest, an expression contrasting the one his starry-eyed companion wore. Jumin had asked Assistant Kang to accompany him to the performance that night in case they needed to do business with Mademoiselle Chung; not only was Assistant Kang one of his better employees, but she was also well-versed in opera culture and possessed knowledge that would doubtlessly benefit Jumin. In addition, she was also one of Zen’s biggest fans, and let it not be said that Jumin didn’t occasionally throw his employees a bone.

Speaking of Zen…

Jumin’s gaze drifted over towards said actor. Despite the man’s rude behavior towards Jumin earlier that day (and Jumin was still baffled as to what, exactly, made Zen accuse him of sabotaging his career), Jumin had to admit that he understood why Zen was so popular. His good looks were certainly a factor, but even someone like Jumin, who was not terribly familiar with the opera, could tell that the actor had a happy talent for the performing arts. Despite his relatively youthful age, Zen sung and strutted across the stage with the skill of a veteran singer, radiating a confidence that thoroughly charmed the audience—so much so, in fact, that Zen could send them into fits of laughter with merely a sly smile and a wink, the cheeky expressions complementing his regal attire nicely.

So the threats made against Zen had nothing to do with any lack of talent. What, then, was the writer’s motive?

Jumin frowned and steepled his fingers together in thought.

It was difficult not to notice the thread that connected all the letters to each other—Jihyun. Little Jihyun. Loyal Jihyun. Charming Jihyun. Angelic Jihyun. Beautiful Jihyun…

Even when they were children, Jumin had associated such descriptors with his friend; it wasn’t until later, when he was older and had been forced to fraternize with one of his father’s mistresses, did he learn that “angelic” was not how platonic friends thought of each other, a fact that Jumin took in stride. Jihyun was Jihyun, after all, one of the only constants in Jumin’s turbulent life—it was only natural that Jumin became so attached to such a person.

(He was uncertain whether he’d call it _love_ , however. If his father’s affairs taught him anything, it was that people used the term so often that it soon lost its value; Jihyun deserved more than a word that became cheap so quickly.)

No matter. What Jumin himself thought was irrelevant. No, the fact remained that someone else had taken an interest in Jihyun—enough that they were willing to threaten others to further his career.

But who?

**_“I am your angel of music… come to me, angel of music…”_ **

Jumin’s frown deepened. Ah, yes. How could he forget the mysterious voice in Jihyun’s dressing room?

To be quite frank, Jumin had previously thought he’d just imagined the voice. It’d been such a faint, whispery sound, much like wind chimes gently swaying in the breeze—such a sound could’ve easily been a trick of the mind, an illusion created to explain his friend’s absence.

But after the letters they’ve received… Jumin couldn’t confidently say that he had merely imagined the noise. So who—or _what_ —could it have been? A fan? A… lover?

… For whatever reason, the idea of Jihyun having a lover made Jumin feel cold. He shrugged it off and re-focused on the stage, determined to suppress the emotion he’d experienced.

As he did so, he was struck with the sense of being watched from afar.

* * *

 

In the middle of the first act, a sound floated down from the catwalk above the stage. If anyone had heard it, they would've described it as a strange, soft creaking noise, as if someone was delicately treading on old planks of wood; if they possessed extraordinary hearing, they would've also noted that it was followed by the sound of something heavy being dragged across the catwalk.

But alas, if such people existed that night, they were too busy enjoying the opera before them. The lively songs drowned out the footsteps, cloaking it with sounds of brightness and color; moreover, the leading man’s gorgeous face was enough to distract even the most diligent people, leaving them deaf to the going-ons above the stage.

The audience only realized that something was amiss when a loud, booming voice filled the auditorium, flooding the space from every direction.

**_“Did I not say that my orders were to be obeyed?!”_ **

All at once, the activity on the stage ceased. Zen and the accompanying choir paused mid-note; the dancers halted their graceful movements, looking exactly like shocked gazelles. Even the orchestra fell silent, their bows screeching to a stop against the stringed instruments.

The audience began to murmur amongst itself, questioning whether the voice was part of the show. They only began to settle down once Zen motioned for the orchestra to resume the performance; with a strained smile, he picked up where they left off, his voice strong despite the odd situation around him. 

Jumin turned towards his assistant. One look at her ashen face told him all he needed to know.

Something was terribly, terribly, wrong.

* * *

 

“What the devil was that?!”

The voice had been loud enough to be heard from backstage, throwing the stagehands into a frenzy as they began shouting for answers. In the midst of the chaos, V stood rooted to the floor, his eyes wide with horror as he stared at the performance onstage.

“It’s her…” He spoke softly, the words swallowed whole by the din from the other workers. He stepped closer towards the curtains before he was yanked back by a familiar face.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, V?!” Saeyoung looked furious; nevertheless, V knew Saeyoung long enough to detect the poorly disguised fear in his voice.

“I-I have to get Hyun off the stage!” V tried to pull away, but Saeyoung’s grip on his shoulder remained firm.

“Are you insane!?” Saeyoung hissed. “Like hell you are! Are you trying to make yourself a walking target?!”

“But Saeyoung—!” V’s protest was cut off by a loud croak.

For a brief moment, V wondered if he’d misheard the noise. That hope was dashed when the croak rang out a second time, sounding much harsher than the first. V turned towards the direction the sound came from, and his heart leaped to his throat.

“What the hell?” Saeran, who’d somehow managed to creep behind V, muttered. “Is that… is that coming from Zen?!”

V didn’t have the voice to respond. Instead, he merely stared at the actor onstage dumbly, watching the poor man humiliate himself in front of thousands of people.

Zen massaged his throat desperately and attempted to sing again, his china-like skin flushed pink in embarrassment. Yet, for the third time that evening, a dreadful croak issued past his lips, his usual charming baritone replaced with the belching noise of a toad. The singer clapped his hand over his mouth, his pink cheeks turning a bright red color.

V’s heart sank at the look on Zen’s face. _Oh, no_ …

The audience roared with laughter, deriving great merriment from Zen’s mortification; even some of the chorus members onstage were stifling their giggles, their bodies hunched over from the effort. The only exception was Yoosung, who dashed over to Zen with a terrified look in his eyes. Frantically, Yoosung tried to speak to Zen, but his words were drowned out by the hysterical, bell-like laughter wafting down from the rafters.

 _ **“Behold!”**_ The voice from before crowed. ** _“Monsieur Zen is singing to bring down the chandelier!”_**

It took a moment for V to realize that the earth seemed to be swimming in front of him. Taking a few deep breaths, he forced his vision to refocus. Once he felt more or less stable, he turned his gaze back towards the stage.

“HYUN!” V cried, his usually soft voice rising above the jeers from the audience. “Hyun, please, you need to get off the stage!”

Zen snapped his head towards V’s direction, an enraged scowl marring his pretty face. V shrunk back from the glare but forced himself to meet Zen’s eyes.

“NO! Who the hell do you take me for?!” The actor snarled. He turned his glare upwards towards the rafters. “YOU! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY VOICE, YOU LUNATIC!?”

The only response Zen received was another round of mad cackling, mingling with the audience’s laughter to create an ear-grating harmony. However, the sickening CRACK! of wood splintering in half cut through the audience’s melody, the sounds of mirth turning into screams of terror as a body hurtled down from the rafters.

The body stopped halfway through its journey to the ground. Jeong the scene-shifter dangled before the audience, stage crew, and actors alike, his bloated corpse held up by a noose around his neck.


	8. All I Ask of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys, I'm sorry for leaving you HANGING for so long *dodges rotten vegetables*  
> Seriously though, I really AM sorry for not updating for a while! School was nuts this semester and I had to spend most of my time on schoolwork. Luckily, I'm finally on break, so I finally managed to get this chapter finished!  
> Also, thanks to EVERYONE who left a review on this fic! You guys are the absolute sweetest, and all of your comments make me smile like a loon. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! (Though I'm open to constructive criticism on whether I kept Jumin and V in-character!)

_Say you love me every waking moment,_

_turn my head with talk of summertime._

_Say you need me with you now and always;_

_promise me that all you say is true..._

_that's all I ask of you._

* * *

 

When V was ten or eleven, his mother became deaf.

It wasn’t her fault. Or at least, V assumed that it wasn’t—nobody told V the exact details of the event, but he’d overheard gossipy servants claim that her deafness stemmed from an accident that occurred during one of her performances. Whatever the case might’ve been, her inability to play and listen to the music she had loved so much caused his mother to sink into a depressed state; to her, being unable to perform her music or hear her son speak was the worst torture imaginable, a special hell on earth.

Previously, V had never experienced that form of deafness; now, as he stared up at the corpse swinging above his head, he finally understood how his mother must’ve felt every day after her accident.

It felt as though cotton had been stuffed in his ears. He could see, but not hear, Yoosung screaming as Zen escorted him offstage, the actor’s arms protectively shielding his younger friend from the gruesome sight before him. He saw Saeran hysterically crying and clinging to his twin, fat tears soaking Saeyoung’s work shirt; Saeyoung, for his part, looked like he was in shock as he held his sobbing brother. He saw Mademoiselle Chung and Mademoiselle Kang rush towards the stage with matching expressions of horror, their lips moving too quickly for V to understand.

But above all else, he saw how Jeong stared down at him with glassy grey eyes, looking right into V’s pitch-black soul. Those eyes—god, those eyes! Even glazed over in death, V could still feel how they accused him from beyond the grave, pinning him down as Jeong’s murderer.

_You did this. You killed me._

_Murderer, murderer, **murderer…**_

In his dumb state, it took a moment for him to see the prop chandelier dropping to the stage, shattering into tiny glittery shards mere inches from where Mademoiselle Chung stood. The resultant **CRASH!** pierced through his clogged ears, and the sound of the theater came rushing back all at once—finally, he could hear the chaos erupting around him, such as the screams and shouts of the audience as they stampeded away from the stage, Saeran’s panicked wails, and Mademoiselle Chung’s shaky voice as she vainly tried to calm the rowdy mob in front of her.

It sounded like, for lack of a better word, hell.

V couldn’t take it; the screams rang in his ears, melding with his memory of the angel’s mocking laughter, and he soon found himself fleeing from the grotesque scene he found himself in.

Stumbling out of the backstage door, he saw throngs of people mobbing the main hall of the opera house, shoving each other in their desperation for escape.

_I-I need to get away… as long as she can see me, nobody here is safe…!_

It took him only a moment to make his decision. Turning away from the noisy mob, V started to run towards the coat closet; there, he knew he’d find the staircase that led to the roof to the opera house, far away from all the innocent people caught in the angel’s snare.

As he dashed away, he missed the sound of somebody chasing after him and shouting his name.

* * *

 

The rooftop was meant to be used during the spring and summer months; as a result, it seemed almost barren in the wintertime, and even more so at night. Instead of vibrant flowers, the decorative vases held dirty rainwater, their clay dulled by the elements. Black metal rails sprouted out of the perimeter of the roof, delicately twisting together into a vine-like cage. Stone benches were situated near the railings to offer the best view of the Paris skyline, and overlooking it all was a statue of an angel, made of white marble and gazing towards the stars.

V only stopped running once he reached said statue. After he caught his breath, he began to pace back and forth, his pale face buried in his hands.

His shoes sang a familiar rhythm with every step he took.

_It’s all your fault… it’s all your fault… it’s all your fault…_

He drew in a shuddery breath and ran his fingers through his hair. _God… god, is this some sort of punishment?_

Of course it was. What else could it be? Perhaps it was selfish to make this situation about him… but wasn’t this his fault in the first place? If he hadn’t treated his angel so cruelly… if he hadn’t turned his back on her… perhaps Jeong would still be alive… perhaps Zen wouldn’t have been made a laughingstock… perhaps Jumin wouldn’t be in mortal danger…

_… Is this mother’s way of punishing me?_

No, it couldn’t have been. His mother loved V, despite all of his flaws. V didn’t doubt that—her love was like a ray of light, bright and shining on him even on the cloudiest of days. V knew that. Yet, he had been such a beast to her…

“Jihyun!”

The familiar voice stopped V in his tracks. He whirled around, hoping beyond hope he’d merely been mistaken.

Alas, he wasn’t so fortunate.

Jumin stood a few feet behind him, breathing heavily from the excursion of running. His flushed, sweaty face was incompatible with the elegant navy-blue suit he wore, his tie askew, and in that moment in time, his friend’s appearance was far from the cultured businessman he portrayed himself to be and more like how he’d been when they were children at the beach, laughing as they ran into the ocean and hopped over small waves; nevertheless, as soon as V’s eyes were on him, Jumin straightened his posture and used his hand to smooth out his ruffled hair. V watched him warily, stiff with shock.

“There you are,” Jumin said, relief tinging his voice. V didn’t respond. “Jihyun, I…”

Jumin took a few steps forward, holding up his hands like V was a skittish kitten. V recoiled and darted backward as if Jumin’s very presence repulsed him.

“D-don’t come near me!” Even V could hear how hollow his threat sounded, so colored by the desperation in his voice. He wanted nothing more than to be comforted by his friend, but he refused to be so selfish—he couldn’t damn Jumin like that!

Jumin’s grey eyes narrowed, and for a moment V was reminded of Jeong’s own grey eyes. But no, no, it was ridiculous to compare the two: while Jeong’s eyes were dead and glazed with horror, Jumin’s eyes possessed life, sparkling as keenly as the man they belonged to. “I mean no harm, Jihyun. Surely you know that?”

“I didn’t think that!” V tried to remain calm, but that night had frayed his nerves to threads, hanging him from the edge of his sanity. “You aren’t safe here, Jumin! You have to leave!”

“And abandon you?” Jumin said. He took one step closer to V, who responded by moving one step backward. “Jihyun, you know I can’t do that. Perhaps if your safety was assured, I’d consider it. But as it is…”

“Forget about me!” V begged. “Do whatever you need to do, but keep yourself safe!”

Jumin didn’t make any more moves towards him, but he still had a deep frown on his face as he cocked his head in thought. V wanted to giggle at how _Jumin_ that head motion was, but he couldn’t find any humor in this situation.

“I am many things, Jihyun, but I’m not a magician.” Jumin finally said. His voice was slow but purposeful—he knew what he wanted to say, but not necessarily how to say it. “You are asking me to forget our friendship, to forget our years at the beach. You are asking me to forget a vital part of my memories—no, a vital part of _me._ You must forgive me, Jihyun, but I cannot do that so easily.”

Of course Jumin would say something like that. Many spoke about how cruel and emotionless the heir was, but V knew that was far from the truth; behind the logical and stoic facade laid a generous and kind man who would move mountains for his loved ones, who would protect them at all costs. What made V think that he could be rid of Jumin with a flick of his wrist?

Wrist. Wrist. His hands were shaking.

 _Fear._ It was an emotion V felt often as of late. He hated it, hated what it meant for the people around him.

“Jumin, please…” Despite his churning stomach, V’s voice was small. “I can’t let you get any closer. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Jihyun, we both know you wouldn’t hurt a—”

 _“Please!”_ V felt tears form in his eyes. Strange. It had been years since he’d last cried. “Leave me! She’ll kill you if she sees us like this!”

Jumin’s eyes widened, and V instantly realized he had made a mistake.

“I-I mean…” He struggled to find the words, but there was no need. An understanding look settled on Jumin’s face, and V knew that he’d put the puzzle pieces together.

“Jihyun…” Jumin sounded gentle. “Jihyun… that voice from before…was the same voice from your dressing room last night. Am I correct?”

V couldn’t respond. A feeling of numbness began to spread throughout his body, only pausing its onslaught once Jumin spoke again.

“Were you with her last night?” Jumin continued. His voice was still soft, but his posture was tense, preparing himself for V’s answer.

Silently, V nodded. Jumin drew in a breath and started to fidget with his wrist cuffs.

“Who is she, Jihyun?” Jumin asked, almost whispering the words.

Suddenly, V felt so, so tired. He didn’t want to respond, didn’t want to endanger Jumin’s life any more than it already was, but he couldn’t keep it a secret. He just _couldn’t_. Not with Jumin.

“My angel of…” V started to say but paused.

After everything she did… she couldn’t really be called an angel, could she?

“The phantom...” V breathed, not daring to raise his voice.

There was a short silence; the only sounds were the night breeze and V’s pounding heart.

“The… phantom?” Jumin finally asked. He was still frowning, but his eyes were filled with concern. V both loved and hated that expression--he loved it when Jumin was displaying concern over somebody else, but he hated it when those eyes were directed at him. “The one that haunts this theater? So… the stories are true?”

V shrugged and grasped his arm in a protective embrace. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I didn’t even know she _was_ the phantom until last night…”

Quietly, V imparted to Jumin the events of the night before. He spoke of his angel of music and her enchanting song; he spoke of the damp and winding caves underneath the opera house, of the angel’s gloomy domain. Once he reached the point where he accidentally knocked the angel’s mask off, he paused, only then realizing that Jumin had migrated closer to him during his story so that he was only inches away from V. Briefly, V considered protesting the distance between them, but the surprise that flashed across Jumin’s face suggested that he, too, hadn’t been aware that he’d been moving.

Clearing his throat, Jumin ducked his head and resumed fiddling with his wrist cuffs, doubtlessly wrinkling the fabric. A rose-pink blush decorated Jumin’s cheeks, like paint on a flawless canvas.

“So… she wished for you to stay with her?” Despite the flush on his face, Jumin’s voice remained steady.

“I suppose so,” V said, his grip on his arm tightening. Jumin’s gaze flickered towards his wrists, and his eyes widened in shock. V tugged his sleeves down towards his wrists, but it was too late to hide them from Jumin’s sight.

“Those bruises…” Jumin muttered, his voice tinged with anger. “Did she do that?”

V remained quiet for a moment. “It was my fault.” He finally said, giving a noncommittal answer.

He started when Jumin’s fingers wrapped around his wrists. It shouldn’t have felt so good—the angel had done it earlier, after all—but Jumin’s touch was gentle, as if V’s wrists were made out of the finest china.

“Nothing you could’ve done is worth this.” Jumin murmured.

V shook his head, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. “You have too much faith in me, Jumin—faith I don’t deserve.”

“Don’t say that,” Jumin’s grip tightened but relaxed almost instantly. “Yes, I wish you had told someone about this earlier, but nothing that happened was your fault.”

“But it _was_ , Jumin. If I’d done what the phantom told me to do, perhaps Jeong—!”

V was silenced when Jumin gently took his hand in his own, intertwining their fingers together.

“Nobody could have foreseen Jeong’s death, much less yourself,” Jumin said, voice firm yet soothing. “Jihyun…don’t blame yourself for this ugly business. She was crafty enough to take advantage of your kindness, and spun it so that she could deflect blame—you of all people should know how that tactic is used in the business world. I only wish that I could’ve done something to protect you…”

“Jumin… please don’t say something like that…” V sighed, his voice thick with tears. “I am far from innocent, and this is something I was foolish enough to start. I won’t allow any other innocent people to get hurt, and that includes you.”

“So, you’ll sacrifice yourself and completely disregard your own life?”

V remained silent. They both knew the answer to Jumin’s statement, though they had differing opinions on it.

“Just… just promise me,” V finally said. “Please promise that you won’t put yourself in danger.”

“And can I expect you to make the same promise?” Jumin’s voice was stern, but not unkind—quite the oxymoron. V struggled to respond truthfully, aware that he’d be more likely to break such a vow when compared with his friend.

_If only this could be as simple as it had been when we were children…_

The sound of movement broke V out of his thoughts, only to find that he wasn’t face-to-face with Jumin anymore. Confused, V’s gaze trailed downwards until he finally caught sight of his friend.

Sometime during V’s silence, Jumin had dropped down to one knee, his hand still clasped in V’s own. Jumin stared up at V’s face with a determined expression, looking every inch like a knight kneeling in front of his king.

“If you won’t promise me that,” Jumin pressed his lips to the back of V’s hand, puffing warm air onto his skin. “Then I swear I shall look after you when you cannot, or will not. I refuse to allow you to suffer alone, Jihyun. Remember that no matter what happens, I will always be there to lend aid in whatever way possible.”

V flushed red and used his free hand to cover his mouth. _How could he say those things in that position?_

Still, despite all the horrible things that had happened that day, he started to laugh—sheepishly at first, but growing fonder as he continued to chuckle. Really, kneeling like that for the sole purpose of reassuring V was such a _Jumin_ thing to do.

“Jumin…” V managed to gasp out between giggles, “You _do_ know what this looks like, right?”

Jumin tilted his head, rather like how a cat would. His lips gently quirked into a smile. “Perhaps I do, Jihyun. Perhaps I do.”

At those words, V felt the last of his resolve crumble. He sank down to his knees so that he could look at Jumin like they were equals, though V knew that Jumin was far greater than he’d ever hoped to be.

“You’re a fool, Jumin Han,” V said, his voice shaking. “A damn fool.”

He lifted his trembling hand and pressed his palm against Jumin’s cheek. Jumin leaned into his touch with a soft sigh, his breath washing over V like a balmy breeze.

“Then give me a reason to not be a damn fool, Jihyun,” Jumin murmured. “But for what it’s worth, I’m only one around you.”

V had no idea what, exactly, possessed him to kiss Jumin. Perhaps it was the night air, or perhaps it was the desperate need for comfort and companionship clawing at his heart. Perhaps he was merely doing what should’ve been done years ago when he first felt the stirrings of fondness towards the handsome, brilliant man kneeling in front of him who, despite his cool demeanor, shone as brightly as the sun.

Whatever the reason may have been, it didn’t change how his face drifted closer towards Jumin’s own. He paused at the last minute, his earlier fear rising to the surface once again.

_Should I? I want to… oh, how I want to… but…_

Before he could work himself into yet another frenzy, Jumin’s soft lips brushed against his. Instantly, V’s panic disintegrated into nothingness as he eagerly kissed back, and at that moment, there was nothing but Jumin, Jumin’s lips, and the feeling of comfort and love he’d always associated with his old friend enveloping V like a warm blanket. It was addicting, sweet, intoxicating—it was like singing a beautiful melody and discovering it sounded better as a duet, their lips moving in perfect harmony.

After a long while, they broke apart for air, panting. Drawing in deep breaths, V used his hand to gently cup Jumin’s cheek again, running his fingers over his soft skin; Jumin, meanwhile, brushed V’s mint-colored bangs out of his face, lovingly combing through the long strands.

Jumin leaned forward and pressed a kiss to V’s forehead.

“Jihyun…”

“Jumin…”

_Why did I ever think Jumin wouldn’t chase after me?_

* * *

 

After some time, the two old friends—now lovers—departed from the opera house with their fellow colleagues. Despite the somber atmosphere, their union didn’t go unnoticed. Saeyoung whooped with joy; Saeran blushed and scolded them for “being mushy in public” when he took note of Jumin and V holding hands; and even Mademoiselle Chung and Mademoiselle Kang congratulated the two men, smiling despite the amount of stress they were under.

None of them noticed the young woman staring at them from the rooftop, tears of grief streaming from her one good eye. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, and she tasted blood as she watched her angel down on the block below.

Finally, he entered a horse-drawn carriage with that dark-haired demon, wearing a smile that should’ve been directed at her. The carriage pulled away from the theater, and that was when she released the sob she’d been holding in.

“M-My angel… my beautiful angel…!”

At that moment, there was nothing holding back her sorrow. She sank to her knees and began to wail, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“No…! No…! Not my angel! Not Jihyun!”

She tried to hide her face in her hands; yet, as soon as her fingers touched her porcelain mask, she released a scream of agony.

“Damn it!” She ripped the mask off her face and flung it towards the angel statue standing before her. “Damn them all!”

If she’d been hoping for a reaction, it was a fruitless endeavor—the mask merely bounced off the angel’s marble body and landed on the stone ground, motionless. The woman hunched over and resumed sobbing, her hands covering her ruined face.

Her angel… didn’t love her? But how? She gave him everything! His voice, her music, his newfound career… after everything she had done for him, he _still_ had the audacity to throw her love away!

And it was all because of _that man…_

She should’ve killed him when she had the chance!

 _But,_ the devil in her mind whispered to her, _are you not similar to that beast?_

“Shut up…” She growled, squeezing her eyes shut.

The devil paid no mind to her distress. _Haven’t you both been enchanted by the angel? His lovely, sweet voice, as rich as the finest velvet… you fell in love with him as soon as you heard his voice, did you not?_

As loathed as she was to admit it, the devil was correct. Back then, she hadn’t been an angel of music; she’d merely been a weak, frightened girl who sought sanctuary in the catacombs of the theater to hide from the witch who’d burnt half of her face off. The angel was only born once she heard Jihyun’s soft, gentle voice; the phantom was born a week later when she took advantage of the whispered rumors she’d heard from various employees.

 _Did you honestly think,_ the devil hissed, _that the beast wouldn’t have been bewitched by your angel?_

She growled again, her fingernails digging into the meat of her palms as images of the night before flashed through her mind. How she wished she’d clawed that man’s handsome face to shreds! How she wished she had deafened him so he couldn’t hear her angel’s siren song! She’d been a fool—a hopeless, soft fool who had been too weak to fight for what she deserved!

 _What you deserve?_ The devil snorted. _A miserable, pathetic girl like you deserves nothing. Hasn’t your mother told you that a thousand times?_

“Shut up!” She snarled, stumbling to her feet. She began to pace around the roof, wildly tugging at her golden curls.

The devil didn’t relent. _Is it any wonder why your angel fled into the arms of another man? Someone who had more to offer him than just music and song? Someone who wouldn’t love him as much as you do? Someone who only sees him as a warm body to sleep against?_

As the devil continued to abuse her, a flower took root inside her heart, one with coal-black petals and thorny stems. It began to bloom slowly, nourished by her anger in lieu of the sun, and she  _felt_ it grow as she thought of her angel with that beast, felt the thorns pierce her heart until it was only a bloody piece of meat.

It terrified her. Yet, it made her feel… _alive._

“R-Rika?” A trembling voice warbled behind her.

She spun around and saw her cousin standing by the door of the rooftop. He gazed at her with wide, frightened eyes, as if she’d been possessed by some sort of demon.

Perhaps she had been.

“What do _you_ want, Yoosung?” She spat out, annoyed that her thoughts had been interrupted.

Yoosung gulped and took a few steps closer to her, recoiling when she fixed him with a dark glare. “Are you… are you alright?”

That was the last straw; after her cousin voiced such a ridiculous question, the flower of hatred inside her finished blooming, blocking her vessels and poisoning her blood. At that moment, all she could feel was anger—anger towards her cousin, anger towards her angel, anger towards that beast, and most of all, anger towards herself.

She wanted to scream. Yet, she found herself doing the exact opposite.

She laughed, the wild noise piercing the night air and ringing across Paris.

“Oh, Yoosung!” She said. A dangerous grin spread across her face as she turned towards her cousin, who stared at her in horrified silence. “What do _you_ think?!”

And as she laughed, the angel of music took flight, leaving only the phantom in its wake.

 

* * *

  ** _You will curse the day you did not do_**

**_all that the Phantom asked of you!_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DAAAAA DUN DUN DUN DUN DUN *rocks out to the Phantom's sick music riff*
> 
> Ahem. All joking aside, I have a serious question for my readers. Is V's dialogue too... well, non-V like? I've been trying to make his inner monologues fit his flowery speech patterns from the game, but I feel like that's not really reflected in his spoken dialogue (come to think of it, Jumin was doing most of that in this chapter). So if it's not too much to ask, can I get some honest opinions/feedback about that topic? This fic is my baby, and any advice on how to improve it is welcomed!


	9. Masquerade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, it's probably safe to say that I have no consistent schedule for this fic. WHOOPS.  
> I've already mentioned this, but since Ray's route has been released, I wanna point out that this fic was written waaaaaaay before Ray showed up in Mystic Messenger, so there are A LOT of differences between him and Saeran in this fic (since I used my interpretation of his post-Secret Ending self). That being said, he still wears his Ray suit in this chapter because I am weak (also, bonus points to whoever guesses what CG I used for Saeyoung's outfit).  
> And as always, thanks to everyone who left a comment! I love y'all!

_Masquerade!_

_Paper faces on parade!_

_Masquerade!_

_Hide your face so the world will never find you!_

* * *

 

**Two months later…**

A horse-drawn carriage rolled down the streets of Paris, gilding pass the tall buildings that made up the well-to-do part of the city. The wheels clattered across the cobblestones paving the street, proudly announcing that the pitch-black vehicle carried valuable cargo inside its satin-lined walls—not jewels or gold, perhaps, but for the two men inside the carriage, nothing could be more precious than each other.

… Even if one of the men was completely covered in cat hair.

“Jumin, hold _still,”_ V playfully scolded as he plucked strands of white fur off his beau’s outfit. “I know you’re supposed to be a cat tonight, but your costume doesn’t need to be _this_ authentic.”

It’d been two months since the… _incident_ at the opera house, and it seemed as though some of the gossip was finally shimmering down, helped in part by the excitement over the new renovations Mademoiselle Chung had ordered. Due to the construction work, the opera house had been closed during those two months; however, to celebrate the theater’s grand re-opening, Mademoiselle Chung had announced that a masquerade ball was to be held in the redone ballroom, open to all patrons and employees willing to attend—a criteria that suited both Jumin and V perfectly.

Back in the carriage, Jumin chuckled at V’s fussing. “Don’t let Elizabeth the 3rd hear you say such blasphemy, Jihyun. You know very well that she’s unused to being moved during her naps.”

“Yes, I do, which is why I suggested for her to sleep on a pillow instead of your lap,” V said, his voice light despite his teasing. “How would _you_ feel if she fell asleep on _my_ lap instead, and it made us late to an important appointment?”

“That wouldn’t happen. Elizabeth the 3rd only sleeps on my lap.”

“Yes, but this is hypothetical.”

Jumin took a moment to consider V’s words.

“You have a knack for sadism, my dear.” He finally said gravely.

V laughed and pressed a kiss to Jumin’s nose. “Apologies, dear. For what it’s worth, you _do_ look quite handsome in your costume, cat hair and all.”

V wasn’t just saying that to ease Jumin’s ire; his beau always looked handsome, but he looked even more so decked out in his costume. Although the black trousers and double-breasted vest were a part of Jumin’s normal attire, never were the fabrics as richly embroidered as they were that night, nor was his vest usually trimmed with white fur. Underneath his vest was a frilly white dress shirt topped with a fluffy cravat, giving him the appearance of a cat with a tuft of fur on its chest. In his lap was a black mask with two pointed triangles poking out from the top—a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, in V’s opinion, but it was a pity it’d be used to cover up Jumin’s elegant looks.

Jumin answered with a laugh of his own, his fingers catching V’s hand in a gentle grip. “You say that, but I know all eyes will be on you this evening.” Smiling, he brought V’s hand to his lips and pressed a delicate kiss on the soft skin.

V chuckled, a flush spreading across his cheeks. “You flatter me, Jumin.”

“On the contrary, Jihyun,” Jumin replied. “It’s merely the truth. I’ve never been one to engage in false flattery.”

V wanted to protest further, but the look on Jumin’s face left no room for an argument. Besides, although V was nowhere near as handsome as Jumin, he had to admit that the outfit he wore was positively splendid—the Han’s private seamstresses did a marvelous job with his tailcoat, embroidering patterns on the light blue fabric with such skill that they may have sewn on real clouds instead of mere white thread. His trousers were white, as were his dress shirt and his coat’s trimmings; when combined with a mask the exact shade of blue as his tailcoat, he looked and felt like he was a part of the sky itself, capable watching over his friends and loved ones with care.

If only he could protect them while he was on the ground…

V’s smile dropped. 

 He still had nightmares about the events that occurred two months prior, even though he knew it was terribly selfish of him to act like he was a victim; after all, he hadn’t suffered like poor Zen, who’d been so humiliated that he’d isolated himself from the public he adored so much, or Jeong, who died horribly for the crime of being in the phantom’s way. Yet, V couldn’t stop the dreams that haunted him at night, no matter how much he wished he could.

The mortified look on Zen’s face when he started croaking like a bullfrog… Jeong’s corpse swinging from the rafters… the phantom’s hellish laughter...

And who knew what would happen once the opera house resumed their performances?

“You’re thinking again,” Jumin said.

Glancing up, V saw Jumin gazing at him with a small frown on his face. He chuckled awkwardly and brought his hand up towards his chest, clasping the Han family pendant that laid over his heart—a token of their courtship that’d been passed down through the Han line for generations, and a buoy when he felt like he’d drown in a sea of anxiety. “Ah… it’s nothing, Jumin. Please don’t worry.”

That was a lie, of course. How could V not worry about the situation they were in? Two months ago, he’d been frightened enough by the thought of losing Jumin; yet, their newfound romance made the fear more oppressing, more _real._ Merely the _idea_ of her pupil meeting up with his old friend had been enough to drive the phantom half-mad with jealousy, so what would she do if she witnessed the two men locked in a passionate embrace?

V recalled the last time the phantom had been furious with him, how he’d been shaken like a rag doll and manhandled until he bruised. How deep did her rage go? It’d been enough to kill Jeong, certainly, but Jeong wasn’t close to V at all—how violent would she be towards the man who stole her pupil away?

“Jumin…” V licked his lips and found them terribly dry. “I’m sorry, but… can we not spend the entire evening together?”

Jumin raised his eyebrow, concerned. “How do you mean?” His voice was even, but V detected the hurt and confusion in his tone.

“I’m sorry, I truly am. I’d like nothing better than to stay by your side, but with the circumstances as they are…”

The “circumstances” were merely implied, but Jumin understood what he meant perfectly.

“Do you believe she’ll appear in front of so many people?” Jumin asked.

With a tired sigh, V’s head drooped forward. “I… I don’t even know what she’s _capable_ of doing anymore.”

There was a pause. V’s hand tightly gripped the pendant hanging from his neck.

“If it’ll put your mind at ease, then I will not stop you,” Jumin said, his frown more prominent. “But may I make one request?”

V felt his nerves calm slightly. “Of course. Anything.”

There was another pause before Jumin’s hands clasped over V’s own. V felt the warmth of Jumin’s palms radiating the backs of his hands, contrasting with the cool metal he clutched to for dear life. The dueling sensations took his breath away, and he felt more at peace than he’d been in a while.

“I would like to request one dance,” Jumin’s voice was husky, clearly as affected as V was. “Just one dance with you, and I’ll be satisfied.”

 _A dance…? I’m not sure… ah, but I do want to dance with him terribly… as long as it’s only_ one _…_

“I’d be honored, Jumin.” The corners of V’s mouth twitched into a smile. “I would love nothing more.”

* * *

 

Descending the marble staircase and into the ballroom where that evening’s ball was held, the two men—now wearing their masks—were greeted by a sight straight out of a painting.

There were hundreds upon hundreds of couples spinning across the wooden floor, dressed in their grandest finery and dancing along to the music the orchestra played from a raised platform. Framing the scene were walls painted gold and embedded with silver, boasting props of fabulous statues created by the finest artisans, all illuminated by a golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. A buffet lined one of the walls, filled to the brim with delectable foods for any hungry soul waltzing by.

“Mademoiselle Chung really outdid herself.” Jumin muttered, impressed. V was inclined to agree, but the force of somebody colliding with him prevented him from voicing that opinion.

“Monsieur V!” A high-pitched voice gushed. Looking down, V saw that his “assailant” was a pretty young woman with dark red hair. She grabbed both of his hands and shook them enthusiastically, a huge smile on her perfectly painted lips. “It is an honor—an honor, I say! To think that such a handsome opera star is attending the exact same ball as I--!”

V laughed. “Hello, Saeyoung. Are you enjoying yourself?”

The woman—or, well, Saeyoung—pouted. “Aw, dammit. How’d you know it was me?”

“Ah, lucky guess.” V shrugged, not wanting to mention that Saeyoung’s female voice was quite… distinctive.

Jumin, however, didn’t share his beau’s nonchalance towards the man before him.

“Er…” He blinked. “... Jihyun, are you sure this is Monsieur Choi?”

V chuckled, but he didn’t blame Jumin for being confused—with his natural red hair hidden underneath an auburn wig and his face covered with makeup, Saeyoung made for a very convincing young beauty. He wore a black, frilly dress with a skirt that fell to his knees, along with a (surprisingly, considering how much Saeyoung loved to shock people) conservative bodice with buttons and a lacy white collar. The sleeves were long with the shoulder areas puffed up ever-so-slightly, giving him a chic flare he normally didn’t possess. His golden eyes gleamed from behind his white mask, the edges trimmed with black lace.

“Why, monsieur, I don’t know what you mean!” Saeyoung snapped a fan open and fluttered it in front of his face, as if he was about to swoon. “I am merely Mademoiselle Mary, a humble noblewoman! Really, a man of your pedigree should know his manners!”

Jumin’s eye twitched slightly. “I stand corrected.”

Saeyoung gasped in mock offense. “You scoundrel! Just wait until my brother hears of this! He’ll—!”

“—Do absolutely nothing because you were dumb enough to start this crap.” A familiar voice finished Saeyoung’s sentence.

Saeran appeared next to Saeyoung, and if it weren’t for the white hair and yellow eyes peeking out from his magenta mask, V would have completely been unable to recognize him. Instead of his usual attire, he wore a (stiff and uncomfortable, if his fidgeting was any indication) magenta tailcoat trimmed with gold; underneath the garment was a vest that was a darker shade of brown then the tan trousers he wore. Even his hair, while recognizable, was neater than usual, the flyaway strands combed flat.

“ _Saeran!”_ Saeyoung whined. “You were supposed to defend my honor!”

“Sorry, I don’t know you,” Saeran shrugged and tugged at his cravat. “Monsieurs, let it be known that I, Monsieur Ray, has never seen this hussy before in my life.”

“What the heck, Saeran! You were _supposed_ to use Vandy’s name!”

“Who cares? I like the name Ray and Vanderwood isn’t around for you to piss off.” Saeran turned towards V. “V, you’re loaded. How the _hell_ do you wear this monkey suit?”

Chuckling, V leaned forward and re-adjusted Saeran’s cravat. “Well, first off, it’d probably help if this wasn’t so tight.” That earned him a grumble, but Saeran begrudgingly tolerated V’s fussing. “By the way, where were you two living for the last few months? I hope you weren’t here…”

“Nah, stayed with an old acquaintance,” Saeyoung said with a shrug. “Did some odd jobs, pissed off said acquaintance near-constantly, blah, blah, blah…” He paused, and V didn’t have to look at him to see the wicked smirk on his face. “... but your vacation must’ve been much more glamorous, my friend! When’s the wedding, my two Monsieur Hans?”

V nearly choked on his own saliva, and Jumin let out a very similar noise.

“I’m not his fiancée!” V insisted as he pulled away from Saeran. He made sure to speak in a whisper, however—he didn’t know who was listening, and there were far too many witnesses for V’s comfort.

Saeyoung snorted in an extremely dainty fashion. “Mmm-hmm, and I’m the queen of Sheba.”  He used his fan to gesture towards the pendant V wore. “I mean, seriously, you wouldn’t go out of the way to buy new bling unless you had a sugar daddy or something.”

V flushed and glanced down at the necklace, watching how the diamonds embedded in the gold twinkled underneath the light. Since the meaning of the necklace wouldn’t have been clear to an outsider, he had felt safe enough to wear it; now, however, he wondered if that’d been a poor decision on his part.

“That’s enough,” Jumin said sternly. “I’ve been unfortunate enough to deal with gold diggers, and I can safely say that my relationship with Jihyun is _nothing_ like that.”

 _Oh, dear._ It appeared that Saeyoung hadn’t so much as hit the “gold digger” button then slam it repeatedly with a hammer.

“Jumin…” V placed his hand on his beau’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Let it go. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

He ignored the cough Saeran let out that sounded suspiciously like “whipped.” Luckily, divine intervention saw it fit to diffuse the fight before it began.

“Oh, Monsieur V and Monsieur Han! How are you two?”

Mademoiselle Chung walked—no, glided—over to them with a huge smile on her face. Fitting her station as the theater director, her outfit managed to be both sophisticated and whimsical in the way the ruffles of her ocean-blue gown resembled the rippling waves of the sea, her hair braided and piled into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her blue mask peeked out from underneath the bangs stilling hanging over her eyes, though her smile was bright enough to dazzle anyone in her path.

“Ah, Mademoiselle Chung!” V said with a small bow. “We’re doing just fine, thank you. How have you been?”

Mademoiselle Chung laughed drily. “I’ve been worse.” She turned towards the Choi twins, her face brightening almost immediately. “Oh, Mon— _Mademoiselle_ Saeyoung, your gown is absolutely lovely! And you, Monsieur Saeran! Why, you look so dashing in that suit!”

Saeyoung blushed prettily and coyly fluttered his fan. Saeran had to settle for merely hiding his cheeks.

“Ah, well, you know…” Saeyoung batted his eyes. “A lady must always dress up for the occasion.”

Saeran rolled his eyes. “Please, Saeyoung. You’re just wearing that because you like messing with people.”

“No! Why, I’ve never!” Saeyoung gasped, looking scandalized. “How could you, Saeran!?”

Mademoiselle Chung let out a hum. “Now that you mention it, I recall a few guests complaining about a woman who convinced them to give her their dessert…”

“It was A FEW macaroons! A _few!_ ” Saeyoung cried out with mock-indignation. 

V shook his head, laughing along with Saeran and Mademoiselle Chung. “What did I tell you about tricking people, Saeyoung?”

A drop of sweat trailed down Saeyoung’s forehead, his smile freezing in place. “Uh-oh…”

Fortunately for Saeyoung, Mademoiselle Chung rescued him from the scolding that was about to inevitably follow.

“Ah… in any case, I hope you don’t mind me interrupting...!” Mademoiselle Chung clapped her hands and gave Saeran an exaggerated curtsy. “Saeran Choi, may I have the honor of dancing with you?”

Saeran blinked and took a step back. “... Why?” He asked, suspicion clear in his voice.

Mademoiselle Chung frowned. “Excuse me?”

“ _Why_ are you asking me to dance?” Saeran clarified. He glanced around, as if expecting someone to leap out at him. “Is this a prank or something?”

“No!” Mademoiselle Chung replied quickly. “Of course not! I-I just thought I’d like to dance with you, that’s all.”

There was an awkward pause.

“... I can’t dance.” Saeran confessed nervously.

“Neither can I.” Mademoiselle Chung said with a shy laugh. “It’s okay, though… I can understand if you don’t want to--”

“W-wait! I didn’t say that I _didn’t_ want to!” At that point, poor Saeran’s face was as red as his brother’s hair. “I-I just wanted to make sure _you_ wanted to!” He grabbed Mademoiselle Chung’s hand and almost dragged the baffled woman towards the dancing couples, though not before scowling at Saeyoung, who made exaggerated kissing noises behind their backs.

As soon as the two were a safe distance away, V finally released the laughter he’d been holding in. “Oh god, those two…”

“I _know!”_ Saeyoung howled, nearly bending over from the force of his cackles. “I was _this_ close to smashing their faces together!” Suddenly, he straightened his posture and dramatically jabbed a finger in the air. “But it’s improper for there to _not_ be a chaperone supervising a budding romance! Come, Monsieur V! Let us watch these potential lovers to ensure my sweet brother retains his innocence!”

“Er, wait. What?” Saeyoung didn’t bother responding to V’s inquiry, merely grabbing V by the wrist and, much like his brother had done, dragging him to the dance floor. “W-wait a minute, Saeyoung—!”

“You cannot refuse a lady’s request so easily, Monsieur V!”

V sighed. _Well, if I can’t dance with Jumin…_

* * *

 

As it turned out, dancing with Saeyoung certainly wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Thanks to his ability to learn new things very quickly, the young man was a surprisingly talented dancer; in no time at all, he effortlessly took charge of their waltz and, along with V, twirled and swayed to his heart’s content, always eager but never too forceful.

And thus, V spent most of the evening dancing. Occasionally, he would glance away from his partner and sweep his gaze around the ballroom. More than once, he saw Saeran and Mademoiselle Chung drift by, their clumsy movements nevertheless sweet in their sincerity. Jumin was harder to find, as without V by his side, he soon attracted a swarm of followers that tracked his every move and hid him from sight. V could only imagine his beau’s irritation at being pestered in such a manner, and he couldn’t help the rueful chuckles that escaped him.

 _It’s for his own safety,_ he thought before turning his attention back towards Saeyoung.

Halfway through the evening, he was handed off to Mademoiselle Kang, who smiled at him apologetically as Saeyoung happily ran off to find a new target to entertain himself with.

“I hope you’re not expecting someone with Zen’s dancing skills,” She said as the orchestra began a new song. “As Monsieur Han’s employee, my time is rather limited. You can imagine how difficult it is to make dance lessons in between business meetings.”

V laughed as he took her hand. “Sadly, I can imagine.” He glanced down at her gown, its chocolate-colored fabric patterned and trimmed in a way that reminded him of a marzipan cake. “That’s a lovely gown, Mademoiselle Kang. Where did you come across it?”

Mademoiselle Kang’s smile was more genuine as she answered his question, the explanation growing more long-winded as her excitement grew. As she spoke, V pondered if it was possible for Jumin to allow the poor woman to go on a holiday.

V spent some more time dancing with Mademoiselle Kang (who was, contrary to her initial claim, more than an adequate dancer) until he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“May I cut in?” A familiar voice murmured. V tensed as he recalled his earlier promise, but he couldn’t help the traitorous flutter of anticipation in his heart.

“If Monsieur Han so chooses.” V released Mademoiselle Kang and bowed, his movement acknowledged with a curtsy. 

“Finally!” Another familiar voice groused. V’s stomach dropped as Zen came into view, looking every inch like a prince in his white clothes. “Seriously blue-blood, do you talk about anything _other_ than cats? I got a rash every time you brought up that damn furball!”

Jumin smirked at Zen. “I see no issue with such words. I only pity that you do not understand the queen-like beauty of Elizabeth the 3rd.” He offered his hand to V. “Well, Jihyun? Shall we?”

“In a moment, Jumin,” V turned towards Zen, guilt gnawing on his stomach. “Hyun… I know this means absolutely nothing coming from me, but I’m so, so sorry.”

Shock and confusion flitted across Zen’s face. “What…?” Suddenly, he shook his head and gave V a stunning smile. “You have nothing to be sorry for, V! Let the past be the past for tonight, alright?” He clapped a hand on V’s shoulder before turning towards Mademoiselle Kang. “Ah, Mademoiselle Kang! Might I have the pleasure of dancing with a lovely woman such as yourself?”

As Mademoiselle Kang stuttered out her answer, Jumin led V to a less-crowded part of the dance floor. “Surprisingly, I agree with Zen in one regard,” Jumin muttered, squeezing V’s hand reassuringly. “There is no reason for you to apologize for another’s actions.”

V wished it could only be so easy.

“Well, Monsieur Han,” V said, trying to keep his voice light. “Shall we begin?”

As if they’d been waiting for V to give them a cue, the tempo of the music became more jovial and energetic. Cheers rose from the dancing couples as they re-adjusted their movements to fit the frantic, blood-pumping beat gracing their ears.

Jumin laughed, sweeter than any other sound in the world. “If this is our only dance for the evening, then we may as well make it count.”

He wrapped an arm around V’s waist, drawing V close, and placed a steady hand on his back; in turn, V rested his right hand on Jumin’s shoulder. Clasping their free hands together, the two lovers shared a smile and began their dance.

As they waltzed amidst twirling skirts and flapping tailcoats, time ceased to exist, blurring together like the golden trappings did as the men whirled in circles. In Jumin’s arms, the concerns V had felt earlier that evening all but vanished, and at that moment, he could laugh and smile like he did when they were children, which was exactly what he chose to do. His chuckle was an airy sound that, unbeknownst to him, had an intoxicating effect on the usually cool and calm Jumin, who could only marvel at the wonderful man dancing with him, his face as warm and glowing as the flames in the chandelier.

And thus, they spent several happy moments wrapped in each other’s arms, more euphoric than they’ve been in months.

But at midnight, several things happened—not at once, but one after another.

The grandfather clock struck twelve.

An unexpected guest descended down the staircase.

The pianist’s fingers slipped and hit the wrong note.

V froze mid-step as the aura of death and decay invaded his senses.

And all hell broke loose.

Screams pierced the air, transforming the merry dream into a nightmare. Glancing up, V’s eyes widened in horror as he recognized the figure standing at the foot of the stairs.

The phantom—no, not the phantom, but _the Phantom—_ stared at the panicking masses, her mouth fixed in a stony line. As if challenging the brightness of the ballroom, her gown was as black as pitch; the only spots of color were on her floor-length skirt, embroidered red petals splattered across it like blood. A black mask covered her entire face, the painted porcelain glinting in the candlelight.

_No… no! She can’t see me with Jumin!_

V broke away from Jumin’s hold, earning a shocked “Jihyun!” as he bolted to the other side of the dance floor, dodging waves of panicked party guests until he reached his destination.

“V!”

V jerked his head towards the direction where that voice came from. He saw Saeyoung standing a few feet away from him, white-faced and protectively holding onto Saeran, who glared at something over V’s shoulder.

“Saeyoung! Saeran!” V raised his voice to be heard, grimacing when a few guests jostled him. “Where’s—ah!—Mademoiselle Chung!?”

Instead of responding verbally, Saeyoung lifted a trembling finger and pointed to something behind V. With a feeling of dread, V turned around to see that the fleeing crowd had managed to create a path for the Phantom; at the end of the trail was Mademoiselle Chung, who coolly stood her ground as the Phantom stalked closer to her.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, even once the party guests grew quiet. Finally, the Phantom spoke, her voice low and full of contempt. 

“Why so silent, Mademoiselle?” She hissed. “Did you think I’d leave after you treated me so poorly?”

“Madame, please,” Mademoiselle Chung said, and unlike the Phantom, her tone was calm and placating. “I understand why you’re upset, but this is just a misunderstanding. Is it not possible for us to—?”

The Phantom giggled harshly. “A _misunderstanding,_ mademoiselle? Is _that_ what you call your blatant disrespect of my orders?” She clicked her tongue. “No matter. That is not what I came to discuss with you. My appearance tonight is more for business than anything else.”

“... Business?” Mademoiselle Chung echoed.

“Yes.” With a sharp nod, the Phantom pulled out a book from seemingly nowhere. “In between these covers lies my newest opera— _Salome Triumphant._ I’m expecting you to bring it to life onstage without delay.”

“... And if I refuse to perform it?” Mademoiselle Chung’s voice wavered ever-so-slightly.

“You know full well what’ll happen if you don’t.” The Phantom said lowly, her threat clear.

The Phantom held out the book to Mademoiselle Chung, who eyed it warily. After a moment, she slowly reached towards the book, her gaze never leaving the Phantom’s face.

Once her fingertips brushed against the old leather, the Phantom seized Mademoiselle Chung’s wrist with a grip as strong as iron chains. V heard Saeran growl at the sight, followed by the sound of him attempting to struggle out of his brother’s hold.

“I left very specific instructions, Mademoiselle,” The Phantom said, her voice as venomous as a viper’s bite. “I trust I’ve persuaded you to never disobey me again? After all... there are much, _much_ worse things than a shattered decoration.”

She yanked on Mademoiselle Chung’s wrist, causing her victim to cry out in pain.

“No! Stop!”

V was only semi-aware he’d been the one who shouted. His feet moved forward before he had a chance to think, deaf to the cries of “V!” and “Jihyun!” that followed him.

Upon hearing his voice, the phantom froze. Slowly, her grip relaxed on Mademoiselle Chung’s wrist, loosening enough for the manager to snatch her hand away. The phantom barely took notice of Mademoiselle Chung’s escape, too busy staring at V with an accusing gaze.

V struggled to open his mouth, but soon found that he couldn’t speak.

 _“You,”_ the Phantom spat as she stepped forward. “How _dare_ you speak to me!”

At that moment in time, V couldn’t say that he was afraid of the woman before him--rather, he felt numb, as if all feeling fled from his being. Nevertheless, he stammered out an “I—I…” as he stepped backward, the Phantom following his movement threateningly.

“That’s enough!” Someone stormed over towards them and pulled V away by his shoulder. V didn’t have to look to know who it was—even if Jumin’s voice hadn’t been imprinted into his memory, the Phantom’s murderous glare spoke volumes about the intruder.

V watched as the Phantom’s eye traveled down the column of his neck, stopping when she noticed the necklace V wore. Upon piecing the clues together, she let out a low growl of rage.

“You won’t leave me so easily…” She surged forward and grabbed the pendant in her hand, earning gasps of horror from onlookers. “ _You belong to me!”_

With her final declaration, she yanked on V’s necklace. The chain fastened around V’s neck broke in two, and he cried out at the sharp sting it left in its wake, his eyes wide with shock. Laughing bitterly, the Phantom threw the necklace to the floor, as if she was disposing of a piece of trash.

V was barely aware of the chaos that erupted around him as he numbly stared at the broken jewelry lying at his feet. He vaguely heard the sound of a trapdoor snapping open and shut, followed by the sound of shouting.

“Monsieur V! Are you alright?”

“V?! V! Snap out of it, you idiot!”

“V! C’om, say something! This isn’t funny!”

“Jihyun… Jihyun! Can you hear me, Jihyun?!”

He felt a pair of arms wrap around him, Jumin’s familiar scent filling his nose. He leaned into the touch but said nothing, too distracted by the thoughts that raced through his head.

_She’ll be back. She always comes back…_


	10. Notes/Twisted Every Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's putting off studying to post this chapter! :D  
> TBH, I'm not 100% pleased with this chapter--it feels kinda like filler to me, even though a bunch of important stuff happens in it. Still, I feel like I did the best that I could under the circumstances.  
> Notes:  
> * YEAH YOOSUNG, HOW DOES IT FEEL TO HAVE A SECRET YOU CAN'T TELL ANYONE. IT SUCKS DOESN'T IT.  
> * Readers familiar with the musical may notice that I made the Raoul character more wary about the whole "using my partner as bait to lure out their creepy stalker" plan. That was intentional: considering the events of his own route, I honestly can't see Jumin EVER being okay with that kind of plan.  
> * Same thing applies to V-- considering how self-sacrificing he is, it'd be weirder if he DIDN'T go along with it.  
> * It might take awhile for the next chapters to come out (and yes, it's possible for updates to become even slower than they already are). That's because this is the last chapter I pre-wrote before publishing, so I'm gonna have to write the next few chapters from scratch. But on the bright side, a lot of juicy drama happens in those chapters, so stay tuned!  
> * Thanks to everyone who left such lovely messages on the last chapter! You guys are all are so nice and I love every review I get!

_Twisted every way, what answer can I give?_

_Am I to risk my life to win the chance to live?_

* * *

 

On the morning after the ball, Coachman Kim drove both V and Jumin to the opera house. The two men disembarked from the carriage solemnly, their faces grim and worn with exhaustion; neither of them had slept well the night before. V only half-listened to Jumin’s hushed conversation with Coachman Kim as he gazed at the building.

He hadn’t wanted to go to work that day—the spectacle from the night before gave credence to his greatest fear, putting it on display in a grotesque circus for all to see. When the morning finally came, V’s fear of the Phantom’s wrath was his sole motivation for going to work, and Jumin, of course, insisted on accompanying him. Unfortunately, even Jumin’s presence hadn’t been enough to soothe V’s heart; it only reminded V of the horrid fate the phantom had in store for him.

V’s hand crept up to his chest and clutched at air. He vaguely heard Jumin talking to him, but it took a moment for him to respond.

“What?” He asked softly, not bothering to look up.

Jumin sighed and wrapped his arm around V’s shoulders. V leaned into his touch, briefly indulging in the warmth his beau provided.

“I said that you have no obligation to go to work today.” Jumin said. He spoke in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. “Surely, Mademoiselle Chung will understand if you do not appear.”

V’s lips quirked into a smile. “Are you, Jumin Han, telling me _not_ to go to work? I should record this occasion.”

“Jihyun.” Jumin’s expression was grave. V sighed and gave Jumin a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll be fine, Jumin,” V reassured Jumin, shoving his fears aside for the moment. “So long as you stay by my side.”

* * *

 

When Jumin and V entered Mademoiselle Chung’s office, they found the manager slamming the composition book onto her desk.

“This is insane!” Mademoiselle Chung groaned, tugging her bangs in agitation. “We have a _week_ to rehearse this monstrosity! A _week!”_

She stood up and began pacing back and forth. Alarmed, V shot her a worried look before he hurried over to the other two occupants of the room, who were bent over another piece of paper and talking amongst themselves.

“Saeyoung? Saeran?” He muttered. “How long has she been like this?”

“Does it look like I have a watch?” Saeran grumbled. His head snapped up to look at V, and V saw the black rings underneath his eyes. “She’s been freaking out all morning. Not that I can blame her, though--have you _seen_ all the shit the Phantom wants in her damn opera?!” He pointed at the paper Saeyoung was skimming over. “That’s only the first page! Why the hell does that bitch need _ten pages_ to describe the scenery?!”

“Will you knock it off!?” Saeyoung hissed, still looking at the paper in his hands. “I need a moment to process this, and I don’t need anyone acting like a kid!”

“Oh, _that’s_ rich, coming from someone who already acts like an overgrown five-year-old—!”

V sighed and rubbed his face, too tired to deal with their bickering so early in the day. He glanced over at Jumin, wordlessly begging for his assistance.

“Saeran, Saeyoung, that’s enough,” Jumin said, quickly adopting a professional, business-like tone. “I presume that Mademoiselle Chung plans on following the instructions to the letter?”

There was an awkward pause.

“You’re gonna have to ask her yourself,” Saeyoung replied, not meeting their eyes. V blinked in confusion and turned to Mademoiselle Chung, who sat behind her desk with her head buried in her hands.

“Mademoiselle Chung?” He asked gently. The manager lifted her head and grunted in acknowledgment. “I’m sorry to bother you, but… are you going to follow the Phantom’s instructions?”

Mademoiselle Chung sighed. “Yes. I have no choice, do I?”

V felt a sense of cautious relief flood him. “Ah. Alright. I feel terribly guilty about making the other crew members work so hard, but I suppose I can try to do the bulk of the—”

“What are you talking about, V?” Mademoiselle Chung interrupted, grimacing soon afterward. “Sorry, that sounded too harsh. But… you do realize you’re not going to be working backstage, right?”

V froze at her words. “... What?”

Mademoiselle Chung sighed. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but… V, you’re going to be onstage. The…” She made a face. “... _Phantom_ made it very clear that she wanted you to play John the Baptist. In other words… you’re the star of the show.”

There was a long silence. V stared at her numbly, only barely processing Jumin’s hand on his shoulder. 

Of course. He should’ve known the Phantom wanted him to play the main role. Wasn’t that how he got them into this mess in the first place? Why was he naive enough to hope he wouldn’t have to sing? Shouldn’t he be relieved that he was the one playing the male lead and not someone else? Shouldn’t he be happy that nobody else had to suffer the Phantom’s rage?

“... Jihyun?” Jumin asked quietly.

V inhaled shakily, flinching when he saw the concerned expressions being directed his way. He hated it. He didn’t want their pity—he didn’t _deserve_ it. Couldn’t they see that _they_ were the ones in danger, not him? Couldn’t they see how stupid he had been to trust the Phantom? Couldn’t they see that this whole mess was _his_ fault?

Jumin’s deep voice pierced through his inner tirade, his words bringing little comfort to V.

“With all due respect, Mademoiselle Chung, Jihyun would hardly be safe in such a situation. I cannot speak for Jihyun, but I’m certain that there’s no way he’d be willing to put himself in danger like that—”

In any other context, V would’ve chuckled. Dear Jumin, always wanting him to stay away from anything that would cause him harm…

_But how can I refuse the Phantom’s orders?_

Really _,_ that was the crux of the issue. V knew it had to be a trap; after the Phantom’s words the night before, there was no way the Phantom would allow him to walk freely among the public. But what other choice did he have? Any other decision marked a trail of pain and sorrow for everyone in the opera house—why damn them if he could offer himself as a willing sacrifice?

“Thank you for your concern, Jumin, but that won’t be necessary,” Gently, V took Jumin by the shoulder and drew him aside. “I’ve already made up my mind. Mademoiselle Chung, where can I find the scripts?”

Before Mademoiselle Chung could respond, he was hit with a flurry of resistance.

“V, you moron! Don’t you know what you’re agreeing to—?!”

“It’s not worth it, V! Whatever you think will happen, it’s not worth it—!”

“Jihyun, you can’t be serious—!”

V held up a hand, instantly silencing Jumin, Saeyoung, and Saeran. He forced himself to smile.

“Believe me, I’m well aware of what I’m getting into,” He said. “I don’t make my decision lightly. But I refuse to allow any more deaths in this theater—not if I have a chance to prevent it.”

“I as well,” Mademoiselle Chung added, ignoring the glare Jumin directed at her. “And I promise, Monsieur Han and Monsieur Chois, that the theater will do its absolute best to protect V. I’ve already contacted the police department, and they’re willing to send some of their best men to stand guard and secure the stage. If all goes according to plan…”

“Mademoiselle Chung,” V flinched at Jumin’s frosty tone, “I highly doubt this Phantom will follow your plan.” He took a step forward. “Such an amateur set up is bound to get someone killed, or—”

Once Jumin was too close to Mademoiselle Chung, Saeran darted forward with a snarl and dragged the heir back. “Lay off her, Han. It’s not like you’re coming up with any genius plans, so shut up and leave her alone!”

Jumin shook Saeran off his arm, wrinkling his nose at his proximity. “I assure you, Monsieur Choi, that I intend to think of a much better plan than this foolish errand.” He turned his gaze to V, pinning V with a sharp look that’d never been directed at him before. “If you wish to play the martyr, _Monsieur_ V, then you must know that I will do everything in my power to stop you.”

V had expected Jumin’s ire. He hadn’t been aware of how much it’d wound him, however.

“I’m aware, Monsieur Han,” V responded. “I’d expect nothing less from you.”

* * *

 

“You have to stop this, Rika!”

Rika paused her violin playing, the bow hovering over the strings like a cleaver. Silently, she stood in the middle of her lair, waiting for Yoosung to continue.

Yoosung gulped and gathered enough courage to speak. “Your opera—it’s magnificent, it really is, but it’s just too _much_ to memorize in a week! The stage crew has to work overnight creating all-new props and backgrounds! Everyone in the orchestra is terrified of losing their jobs because you had Mademoiselle Chung fire the main bassoon player! You assigned high notes to the baritones and tenors, notes that you _know_ they can’t reach!” His heart thumped feverishly, giving him enough bravado to blurt out, “And—and I’m sick and tired of helping you sneak around this place! Last night, when you had me use that trapdoor… that was too much! I _told_ you I wouldn’t help you hurt people, and you _promised_ that you’d stop!”

Rika didn’t respond at first; instead, she held her gaze aloft, staring at nothing and everything all at once. When she finally spoke, it was in a deceptively soft and gentle tone, the one Yoosung used to hear from her so long ago.

“Yoosung… I did promise you that. But don’t you see, Yoosung, that they deserve it? Going against my orders like that… sabotaging my beloved Jihyun’s singing career… conspiring against me… and that _beast,_ ” She spat out that word like it left a foul taste in her mouth, “selfishly monopolizing my angel for himself… how can you say I’m in the wrong?”

“How can I… Rika, how can you say such things?! Weren’t you the one who always told me to be compassionate and caring towards others?” Rika’s shoulders tensed and immediately Yoosung regretted his words; what made him think that his cousin would take kindly to being compared to the beautiful, sweet woman she’d been in the past, a past she tried so hard to bury?

Slowly, Rika turned around. The mask typically on her face was gone, and Yoosung had to suppress a shudder at the unreadable expression she wore.

Truly, Yoosung thought, what made his cousin terrifying was not the injuries she bore, but the violent way her moods shifted; this made her near-unpredictable to approach, a fact that Yoosung learned many times the hard way, even years after Rika’s adoptive mother—and by extension, Yoosung’s aunt—wounded Rika so grievously.

“That stupid creature died a long time ago, Yoosung,” Rika hissed. “And what makes you so concerned about my affairs? I could have sworn you despised my angel for taking your _precious_ cousin away from you.” The corners of her lips lifted into a sneer.

“I’ve never _hated_ V, I hated how you obsessed over him—and still do! Rika, _please_ come to your senses! I-I overheard the twins talking, and they mentioned something about policemen being at the opening performance—you _have_ to stop this, Rika, before you get hurt!”

Once again, Rika said nothing. Yoosung could barely breathe as he waited for an answer, the only sound coming from the _drip, drip_ of moisture rolling from the stone ceiling.

Then, Rika resumed playing her violin. The music warbled pitifully, as if sharing its mistress’s pain.

“Let them come, Yoosung,” She said quietly. “I’ve no need to fear those dimwitted fools.”

* * *

 

“No, no, _no_ , Juhyeok! That’s _not_ how you sing those notes!” Christa Kim, the choir conductor, dragged his hand down his face in exasperation. “Your pronunciation is entirely wrong!”

Juhyeok frowned and tried again, only to grimace when he hit a sour note. Monsieur Kim responded with a frustrated scream, and V winced at the noise, having been in the same boat as Juhyeok more times than he could count.

“Am I suddenly teaching a pack of shrieking schoolchildren?!” He complained loudly. “This piece is difficult enough as it is! We’ll need the whole _week_ to rehearse this one song alone!”

A chorus of groans greeted that statement. V couldn’t blame them—the phantom’s compositions were very ambitious, for lack of a better term, full of dips and high notes capable of straining even the most seasoned opera star. While the phantom’s grueling lessons made him accustomed to her unique compositions, the other members of the chorus weren’t so lucky.

“Hey!” A familiar voice called out. “His way’s better—at least he makes this crap _sound_ like music!”

A few other chorus members snickered at Zen’s comment, which only seemed to enrage Monsieur Kim further.

“Watch your tongue, Monsieur Zen!” The conductor scolded. “What if the composer hears you insulting her music!?”

“With all due respect, Monsieur Kim,” V could picture the irritated expression on Zen’s face. “The composer isn’t here! And even if she _was_ here, she’d have to accept constructive criticism like the rest of us!”

There was a murmur of agreement from several other chorus members.

“That’s enough—!” Once again, Monsieur Kim’s sentence was quickly interrupted by Zen.

“Besides, don’t you remember what the composer did to us?! I’m sorry, but I don’t feel a lot of charity towards someone who sprained my ankle and strung a man up from the rafters! Hell, I don’t even know why we haven’t run her out yet—!”

At Zen’s words, V’s face grew pale. Turning his body around slightly, he frantically gestured for Zen to be silent. Zen, however, ignored his warning and continued to talk indignantly.

“I mean, she’s only one woman! Why the hell are we sitting around on our asses for?! It can’t be too hard to find—!”

**CRASH!**

Everyone jumped at the loud noise, a few shrieking for good measure. V snapped his head up to see a sandbag dangling above their heads, and if it hadn’t been for the rope attaching it to the rafters, it would’ve doubtlessly fallen onto one of the chorus members.

“W-what…!” Dumbfounded, Monsieur Kim stared at the sight in front of him. “I-is this someone’s idea of a prank? I swear, if it’s one of those Choi boys—!”

He didn’t finish his sentence; at that point, another item fell from the hole in the rafters, stopping inches away from Zen’s face. The opera singer instinctively flinched back, narrowly avoiding the noose swinging in front of him.

The screams from the choir deafened V as he stared at the noose, the lasso framing Zen’s shocked face like a morbid picture frame. Suddenly, V wasn’t backstage rehearsing for an opera—instead, he was staring up at a disfigured body hanging from the rafters, numb and mute from horror as the opera house descended into chaos around him.

_God no, god no, god no…!_

V only became aware of his own screams once Zen stumbled backward with an unmanly shriek of his own. A few chorus boys unlucky enough to be standing behind Zen were knocked over, which only prompted more screaming and flailing from the panicked choir.

A cane was repeatedly struck against the floor. Everyone froze and turned their heads towards the conductor, who cleared his throat and re-adjusted his collar.

“R-right!” Monsieur Kim’s voice was high-pitched with poorly-disguised fear. “I-I think that’s quite enough practice for now, eh? After all, i-it’s quite late!” Wiping away the sweat off his forehead, he turned his heel and hurried off, sheet music fluttering behind him.

Collectively, the chorus members all shot to their feet and dashed away, chattering and shaking like frightened children. V, on the other hand, was much slower to start moving. Instead, he went back to gazing at the noose dangling innocently, albeit mockingly, in the air.

V’s heart started to pound.

_No matter what I do… she’ll always be there. Always watching…._

Years ago, that thought would’ve been a comfort. Now, it was only a dark threat.

“V?”

V turned to see Zen staring at him, and once again, V grimaced at the pity he saw in his eyes. Still, V smiled, though judging by how Zen cringed at his expression, it wasn’t very convincing.

“Uh, V… you don’t look too good,” Zen said, obviously trying to sound gentle. “Maybe you should lie down…”

“No, no. I’m fine.” Those words came out of V’s mouth automatically, and he paused to collect his thoughts. “Hyun… can you do me a favor?”

“Y-yeah, V. Anything.”

“There’s a cemetery a few blocks away from here. Can you tell Jumin that I’ll be there?”

“W-what!?” Zen’s already pale face turned as white as a sheet. “V, you’re not—!”

“No, nothing like that,” V shook his head but smiled despite himself. Really, underneath all of Zen’s bluster and narcissism, he truly was a good man. “I’m don’t plan on hurting myself, Hyun, so you don’t have to worry.”

He turned but paused.

“Just tell Jumin where I am. He’ll understand why I’m there.”


	11. IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT! (Not as scary as it sounds!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The author humbly apologizes for being a butt.

Hey, guys! It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?

I wish I could say I have a good excuse, but I don’t. Not really, anyway--I spent most of the summer working at an internship and a good chunk of September re-adjusting to school, so this fic hasn’t been my top priority for some time. 

I AM working on it, though, I promise! I have a rough draft of the next chapter done, and it needs a LOT of polishing. Little known fact about me: I am my own worst critic, so I actually dread re-reading the rough drafts of my works, LOL. Additionally, I’ve been struggling with getting my writing groove back, which makes it ten times harder to actually edit. I’ve been participating in Kinktober on my NSFW account and I’m pretty happy with the results so far, so here’s hoping that it’ll give me the boost I need!

Still, I feel awful about not updating for so long, because I have a ton of amazing readers who’re looking forward to a new chapter! I know a lot of fic authors blame their audience for not giving them an incentive to write their stories, but I can happily say that’s NOT the case for this fic--you guys are absolutely wonderful, and I’m working hard to write a chapter worthy of such awesome readers! Thank you for all your kudos and bookmarks, and I’ll do my best to release the next chapter either towards the end of October or the beginning of November!


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